Jeffy Show Countdown Article #1: It's A TOUGH RACKET Out There

(Note: This is part 1 in a 3 part series of Jeffy articles in anticipation of the October 31 2007, 12PM EST release of "The Jeffy Show" -- invest 5 seconds into your success and go to www.jeffyshow.com right now to see the new site.)

Sunday morning. I wake up in New York City after another crazy night out on Bootcamp.

I’ve been here for two weeks. My previous visits to NYC were always done commando-style: BOOM, in and out in a couple of days. Now that I’ve had the time to really immerse myself in the culture, I can see why people love it here.

Alexander and I have been on a rampage, just soaking it up...

Trips to the SoHo bagel shop with the little old lady giving “service with a fawkin’ smile.” Day game in Washington Square Park on a sunny afternoon. Swanky rooftop clubs of glory. We’re running through this piece like the Tasmanian Devil on crack.


It’s been tiring, no doubt. But there’s still work to be done.

It’s the final day of the Blueprint Superconference here in New York, and I want to bask in some of the Tyler wisdom before I head out on program again tonight.

Yeah, that’s right: despite the fact that I’m close friends with the guy and hear him yammer on incessantly about this stuff on the daily, I still want to attend the damn thing.

It’s that good.

I head down and get some coffee at the Dunkin’ Donuts (when are we getting these in Cali?!) and meander back up to the conference room.

Papa’s sitting at the registration table out front, looking intently at his laptop. “What’s up dude,” he says, “the Jeffy page just went live.”

He’s talking about the sales copy for the Transformations DVDs. Basically, Tyler had an idea for a campaign where we’d post up BEFORE and AFTER pics of the Transformations speakers, to really hammer home what it is we’re talking about here.

(You can see the final page here: http://www.becometransformed.com/jeffy)

So anyway, I’m like, “Awesome, lemme see it!”

He calls up the page. The photos are, of course, hilarious. Then I start reading the sales copy below it.

It’s basically several pages of Tyler making me out to be the greatest thing since sliced bread. Like, I’m God’s gift to game or something. Some choice excerpts:

“Over the next several months, we watched in astonishment as Jeffy went from being a “solid” guy in terms of women, to eventually pulling off some of the most intense results we had ever seen.

He was having success with phenomenally attractive girls on a more and more consistent basis, and eventually started getting some of the most top-notch results with women that I’ve ever personally seen… from *anybody*.

He’s on anyone in-the-know’s “Top 5 In The World” list at this point.

Not only is the guy the “consummate professional” in terms of how seriously he takes his job, but on any given night he’s absolutely unstoppable.”

As I read this, I’m a bit taken aback.

I’m mean, sure, I’m pretty good… but am I really *that* good? How the hell can I live up to this hyperbole?

Tyler’s in the conference room… I hear him talking about how to LORD over the club and have the turbo girls clinging to you.

I think to myself, “Am I a fraud? I mean, sure, I’ve done some incredible things, but it’s been a while since I had a real glory pull. What the hell am I doing? This is way over the top. I am a LIAR.”

I’m reminded of Alec Baldwin in the movie “Glengarry Glen Ross” where he’s mocking the salesmen on their inability to close… “You’ll be some loser sitting at the bar… ‘oh, I used to be good… it’s a tough racket!”

(Great clip BTW… but more on that later…)

I hand the laptop back and settle in for the Superconference. But I still have this unsettling feeling.

I know that the RSD program is the best out there… my students’ RESULTS week in and week out prove it.

BUT… “top five in the world”? Am I really that good? Hmmmmm….

Flash forward to that evening. Final night of bootcamp for the guys who were taking the Superconference.

These guys are HARD CORE… they’ve put in 14 hour days this weekend, and it shows in their faces and demeanor.

They’re tired.

So am I.

None of this matters a damn. Time to execute.

We take them out to the Lower East Side and split up. Alex takes two, and I take three.

Not much going on in the bars here. Oh well, that’s to be expected on a Sunday night, I suppose. We settle into a little boutique lounge; get a couple of fancy pants cocktails and I start to reel off my finest seminar, digging deep. There’s literally nobody in the place except us, the bar staff and a couple of older guys off to the side having a drink.

We’ve been there for about twenty minutes when all of a sudden, the doors fling open and these two little hellions swirl in.

What the hell… it’s a pair of bona fide nines, all dolled up to the gills for a night on the town in bangshorts and sparkleface. All eyes in the place are on them as they ruckus up to the bar and get their little drinks.

They start clinging on the guys off to the side, telling them how good they smell… okay. I turn to the students and loudly proclaim, “Prostitutes.”

They look over. The students jump on them, asking, “Well how do I smell,” etc. I just lay back and let the guys have the set, after all, it’s probs the only one we’re gonna see tonight.

The girls, however, keep casting these glances over at me as I sit there in the corner, saying nothing.

My nimbus is smoldering.

“I don’t like that one,” one of them says, pointing at me. “He’s the one that screws it up for you guys when you’re talking to girls, huh?”

Everybody laughs at the irony.

They start in on me, hard. “Look at his shirt,” the first one says, “you’re gay, aren’t you?”

I sigh. “Why, you looking for blowjob tips?” Zing!

They keep at it… talking mad trash. A little alarm goes off in my head. I know what this means.

The bigger the test, the bigger the attraction built when you pass it. These girls want me… I just have to stand my ground. The other one says, “Just admit it, you’ll be much happier… you like it up the ass.”

“Hey,” I reply, “that doesn’t make me gay!”

The first girl sidles up and continues to poke at me. I am completely unreactive. I smirk and look her up and down. Her face gets close to mine. “Feel the tension,” she says, “feel it… feel it…” Closer, closer…

Tonguedown deluxe!


The other one comes up and wants some. “Commere,” I say…

Tonguedown, part two!

“Now make out with her,” I command. They start making out with each other.

“Now all of us.” Commence three-way makeout.

I’ve got my hands down their pants now, this is getting scandalous. The students, the other bar patrons, the staff, they’re all watching this go down with their jaws on the floor. I’m basically threesoming a couple of nines in the bar, surrounded by like ten dudes.

The students are stunned, and with good reason. They’re seeing everything Tyler talked about in the Superconference, in REAL LIFE. Like, “Oh, so it actually IS real!”

And all of a sudden, it hits me like a bolt from the blue.

I remember.

“Oh, right. I *am* one of the best. DUH.”

Believe the hype, bitches.

I’m literally not doing a damn thing except refusing to qualify myself, projecting 100% core confidence, escalating assertively and exuding positivity, with that dumb smirk on my face.

The girls want me to go home with them and finish the job, they’re trying to pull me into the cab. But I’ve got a Bootcamp to complete. Kissy kiss, and they’re off into the night. One of the students is shocked that I decided to stay and commends my work ethic.

Hahaha that’s how I roll yo. I’ve had plenty of threesomes with 9s before, this program is all that matters to me right now.

I get a text from Alexander: “I have secured our Omega Uniforms. I am at x location.” Not sure what that means, but hey.

We all roll off, meet up with the other guys and proceed to destroy some hipster bar. Glory times.


The next day, on an airplane back to San Francisco, on zero sleep, I’m contemplating why I ever doubted myself. I mean, sure, the sales copy was a little out there, yeah, but I’m JLAIX. I’ve seen and done things most men only dream of.

Not to mention that, but I had gotten laid earlier that week, and for some reason, that event didn’t even register in my head when I got to trippin’.

Rewind.

The previous month, I was doing a Bootcamp in Austin, Texas, when I picked up a little ginger hottie who happened to live in San Francisco. Hooked up with her when I got back home.

I told her about my upcoming trip to New York, and by coincidence she was going to be in Manhattan that same week on business. We agreed to hook up; she was gonna take me to Masa, one of NYC’s most exclusive and pricey restaurants… on her expense account.

Nice. The life of a jet-setting playboy of doom.

Flash forward to the Wednesday that it was supposed to go down, however, and she FLAKES on me. Yeesh.

Despondent, I start walking through Times Square, alone.

I come across a Red Lobster restaurant and give a slight chuckle. I’m always telling girls, as a role-play, that I’m gonna take them on a romantic date to Red Lobster… and rail them up the ass in the bathroom.


“Screw it,” I think, “I’m taking MYSELF to effin’ Red Lobster.”

I walk in and grab a seat at the bar. How the mighty have fallen. The great jlaix, stood up and eating at Red Lobster.

The biscuits were really good.

As I’m eating my fine lobster meal, I get a text from Kent, one of the RSD Old Guard. Some kind of karaoke party going down, a going-away thing for one of his co-workers. Says he’s got a 40 oz. all set aside with my name on it.

A little sparkle ignites in my eye. I settle up and leave. My iPhone guides me to the location.

I get there and there’s about 35 people in this little karaoke room. I’m introduced by Kent and make some chit chat. All good. Then it’s my turn to sing.

I pull out the big guns first, shock and awe. “Faithfully,” by JOURNEY. It looks something like this:


People are like, “whoa.”

I’m like, “Thank you, thank you very much. You’re a fantastic audience. God Bless America.”

I then ask Kent, “Which ones are single?” LOL. “What about that one?” I point to a cute little nerd in the corner. I love these hot nerds, it’s my new thing.

“She just broke up with her boyfriend a few weeks ago.” Oh my god. I hear those little alarm bells in my head start ringing.

I sit down next to her and start rubbing up, right off the bat. “You’re a great singer,” she says.

“And you’re like a little fuckin’ angel. Jesus. Give me a hug.” Sometimes, I even make myself laugh.

Okay, I make myself laugh ALL the time. But that’s neither here nor there.

The party starts to wind down, I‘ve isolated her off to the side for some VERY light kissing- don’t wanna be tacky club makeout guy- then I get the number. I make sure to qualify her, cover all bases. She looks back wistfully as she gets into a cab and goes off into the night.

I call her the next day. She has some softball game to attend and says she’ll call me afterwards. Ok.

The call finally comes in at around 10:30 pm. We chat a bit and then she gives me this: “Well hey, I’m pretty tired after the game and I have to work at 6am, so I think I’m gonna go to sleep.”

I laugh. “Cool. Hey, where do you live?”

She says, “Oh, right near 89th and 1st, upper east side.”

I go, “Cool, I’m coming over.”

“What?! Now?”

“Yep, see you soon.” –Click- I hang up and go downstairs, hail a cab and just GO.


I get there and call her up. “Hey, I’m here, what’s the address?”

She says, “Hold on, I’m coming down.” She meets me on the corner. She’s dressed casually, but you can tell she’s cleaned up a bit. Heheh. Hug and little peck on the cheek.

“How about one beer?” I ask.

She agrees and we go to some chode pub nearby. I’m in full rapport mode. Interested and interesting. I whip out the old iPhone and go through my photo routine, some Google Earth stuff, etc. we finish our beers.

“How bout another?” She agrees. “With a shot of Jameson this time,” I tell the barkeep.

More comfort. I’m filling in the empty canvas of my life, talking about my friends and all that. I tell her a story about Christophe fucking some girl up the ass. I talk about my book. I turn my stool to face her and brush her hair aside. I tell her she’s like a little kitten filled with love and scratch her behind the ear. I rub her hips; I gently rub the back of her knee.

“Do you have anything to eat at your house?” I ask.

Slow dissolve and we’re in her apartment. I take my shoes off and lie on her bed. We have a smoke and sit on the bed. I talk at length about my novel, “Ichor of the Wolf.”

All of a sudden, I go, “So hey, lie down here and let’s make out for a bit.”

She sort of freezes up. “What?! Is that your ‘move’?”

I smile. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I need to have a ‘move.’ Do you want me to leave?” Laughing. Very light, not at all bitter or annoyed. I am totally fine with leaving right now, I had a nice time. Obviously I’d prefer not to, but hey…

“Well, no,” she says, “but I don’t know… I don’t even know you that well…”

Grinning now. “What do you want to know? And WHY?”

“Why?!” She relaxes a bit. “It’s just, you seemed a little truculent there.” Oh, a vocab nerd.

“Truculent? Actually, I thought I was more PETULANT, but hey.” She lies down. Makeout ensues.

My shirt comes off. Her shirt comes off. My pants come off. I go to take hers off and she stops short. “Hey, I thought we were only going to make out?”

I look her in the eyes. “Look. I only want to do this if this is something we’re going to feel good about later. And I definitely don’t want to do anything without protection.” Classic.

She looks back at me. “Well… I know this is gonna sound totally lame, but… I don’t want to do it.”

I say, “Cool.” I raise one eyebrow. “How about oral?” Then, literally TO THE AUDIENCE, “I wanna lick it.”

She’s like, “oh…” as I take them off and go to town on it. After a bit of the de rigueur jlaix maneuvers, she’s pulling on the ears and saying, “enough!”

This little nerdgirl turns into a minxy WILDCAT of desire, damn, it was hot.


Fade to black, roll credits.

Now. When I read that marketing, why didn’t I take into account the fact that I had just pulled off the above feat, not two days earlier?

Because it wasn’t really THAT spectacular. A social circle pull, paint-by-numbers. Social proofed, demonstrated value, qualified, followed up hard, led the interaction, built trust, systematically defused token resistance with a willingness to walk. Right out of Billy-Bob Whatshisname’s Seduction Ebook.

Contrast that with the glorious Sunday night encounter where it was PURE NIMBUS POWER with a threesome twist, in full view of spectators. Smashing their reality, boggling the mind.

Here’s the point:

Looking back on my “career” as it were, I have a lot of those insane, spectacular pickups in the mix, sure.

But the overwhelming majority of my lays have not been all that unusual. To the contrary, nine times out of ten, a successful pickup is going to be TEXTBOOK. You meet her, she likes you and you MAKE IT HAPPEN. That’s how this stuff works.

A lot of guys tend to get caught up in the glamour and the myths of Herculean pickups from mighty Valhalla, and you know what?

That’s fine.

That’s naturally gonna be the stuff that gets the most attention. People WANT to hear about those miracle pickups, because they’re inspiring… the stuff dreams are made of.

In reality, the FUNDAMENTALS are what matter the most. Knowing what to do, and sticking to the script. Executing.

When I hooked up with that Minxy Wildcat Nerd, obstacles popped up at every step. A lesser man might have thrown in the towel.

But because I knew the fundamentals and had a solid base of experience and reference points, I was able to defuse every one and take it to the hole.

Pun intended. I despise vulgarity.

I didn’t cave, and I didn’t sweat the process either. Because, like our friend Alec Baldwin said above, I’m ALWAYS CLOSING.

People sometimes ask me what the difference is between a guy who is merely “good” at this stuff and one who is GREAT.

The answer: the CLOSER mentality. As Alexander says, “I’m not here to fornicate arachnids.”

We’re gonna get a RESULT, come Hell or high water.

Period.

I didn’t become “one of the best” overnight. I wasn’t always this RELENTLESS CLOSER. I was a typical, normal dude five years ago. A dude who’d slept with 8 women by age 26.

I didn’t just decide one day to be some badass player and POOF my wish was granted.

No, I had to slog it out and learn from the ground up.

And through tireless study and COUNTLESS interactions, I began to internalize those fundamentals. With each “textbook” success, the new identity of a MAN who is successful with women became more and more grounded, more CONGRUENT.

And after a time, it just became WHO I AM.

End of story, no more questions, thank you very much.

It was BECAUSE of those fundamentals, BECAUSE of all those “textbook” successes, that I was ABLE to pull off the “glory stunts” that get the marquee headlines.

I have faith in the nuts and bolts of a pickup, I have unconscious competence, I have presence. I can focus on letting my nimbus shine. That’s what happened on that quiet Sunday evening with the Manhattan nines. And all of this can be attributed to all those years I spent in the “Textbook Trenches.”

This is why I always tell my students at the end of Bootcamp, “Your goal in the upcoming months shouldn’t be perfection. It should be CONSISTENCY. Because if you’re consistent, the results are inevitable. Don’t sweat the process.”

And in the end, as I considered all of this on my flight back to San Francisco, my home, I began to get a little misty, and I had to laugh. Because I knew that I had been foolish in worrying that I was a “fraud” or whatever.

See, for a long time, I depended on external validation to prop up my sense of self-worth, as so many of us do. I pulled a stripper in front of a crowd of stunned onlookers and had a threesome with her, great… I’d feel good about myself for about 72 hours. Then I’d need to pull off some other crazy shit to keep the story alive.

Ultimately, it was like trying to fill a bucket with a hole in it.

It wasn’t until I turned my focus inward that I found the solution. Until I dialed my sense of values, my sense of PURPOSE, determined WHO I AM and WHAT I STAND FOR. Until I discarded the ego, and reconnected with my long-lost SELF-ESTEEM, that the bucket with a hole in it became an endless well of pure, clean water. Water that I could share with everyone.

I’m not “absolutely unstoppable” because Tyler, or anyone else for that matter, says I am.

I’m absolutely unstoppable because *I* KNOW that I am.

I give value, I’m a closer, and I’m coming from a place of CORE CONFIDENCE.

It’s inside of me. And it’s inside of you.

Ignite your nimbus, and let it shine, baby.

Glory times.

-jlaix
www.jeffyshow.com