If I give you a compliment or tell you something you want to believe, you probably think I’m being honest. That’s how Trump has found so much political success when he deserves absolutely none. He keeps telling masses of people what they want to hear, while he is well aware he is spouting lies. Then, when he gets caught in a lie, he creates another lie to offset it or distract the suspicious.
That’s some dangerous shit, right there.
How would that work for me in the dating world? Could I become a comb-over Casanova by fibbing? Sure! I just need to target women who are gullible, insecure, and desperate, then tell them what they want to hear.
I’m convinced I can find something beautiful about every woman I meet, if I look close enough (or stand far enough away). The key is I need to compliment based on her insecurity, not my preference. Telling an amply-busted beauty that she has nice tits will be fruitless. She knows her glands are loved by many, and my affirmation is worth little. However, a woman with silver dollar pancake titties will welcome my adoration and give me bonus access to such, thus making me a happy boy. (Tiny titties you can touch are better than big ones you can’t.)
Women are often concerned about weight, even more than men. Men need to tread carefully here. You can’t tell a fat girl she’s skinny. She’ll become snarky. She’ll kick you in the beans and blog about you. You need to tell her she’s perfect as she is. Remind her you don’t want to date a woman with abs, and you need someone to share your love of New York cheesecake. This works better if you actually play the part, order, and eat the dessert instead of turning in your man card by wearing bicycle pants while dining on a bland pile of kale fuckery.
Both genders love hearing about how smart they are and how great they are at their role—be it a job, bedmate, or hobby. Again, it is more important for your sincerity to be inferred than genuine. Any words of appreciation will pay dividends.
“Ooh, sweetie, you’re so gorgeous on top of me.”
“So, I’m not gorgeous on bottom?”
“Actually, you’re equally gorgeous on top, bottom, and in front. Allow me to thumb that delicious little love bean of yours whilst you grind.”
“What are you saying? Is my clit too small?”
“Come on, baby. Nobody wants an oyster-sized clit. It fits my thumb perfectly.”
“… but, not your tongue? You haven’t been there in a while, if you know what I mean. Am I not fresh?”
“I … what? Um. No, silly. You’re quite flowery. I just assumed I was spending too much time down there. Don’t want to bore you.”
This is the point where the great lie-master Trump has taught me to switch gears.
“Hey, what’s that noise? Did you hear that? Fuck, did I leave the car running?”
“I don’t hear anything.”
“You have any idea how many people die every year from carbon monoxide poisoning? It’s scary.”
“You want me to hop off and check the garage?”
“No way. I’m the man. There could be a burglar making noise. You keep your loveliness right here while I check. I’m bringing a baseball bat just in case. I will protect you from the Mexican rapist with my all-American Louisville Slugger. Oh, and keep things going down there while I’m gone.”
“What? Am I too dry for you?”
“Dry? Heavens, no! You’re an Amazon forest of moisture.”
“Amazon? So, my clit is too small, and my vag is too large?”
“They’re ideally sized, actually. Can’t wait to get back in there, sweetie. But, first, I’m going to introduce Jose to my wooden rod of submission.”
“That sounds kind of gay. Do you like men too?”
“No. Fuck. That came out all wrong. Look, I’ll be right back.”
Time for another misdirection. Women are all about the combination of food and sex. Time to hit the fridge.
“Look, honey, I brought cherries and a banana.”
“What was the noise?”
“Aw, it was nothing. Probably the neighbor’s mutt.”
“So, you’d rather eat than have sex?”
“What? No. We’re going to do both. I’m going to string these cherries together and shove them in your naughty place.”
“What about the stems? That seems uncomfortable.”
“I’ll remove the stems.”
“And, the banana?”
“I’ll peel it.”
“I mean, where is that banana going?”
“Where would you like it, you naughty little girl?”
“Ew, you want to have sex with a little girl? That’s pretty messed up.”
“Just this sexy, little, over-eighteen girl in front of me.”
“All right. Um, let’s eat the cherries. Cool?”
“… as a cucumber.”
God, this lying stuff is hard work. How does The Donald do it?
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