Jeffy Show Countdown Article #2: American Billionaire

(Note: This is part 2 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.)

Porto Cervo, Sardinia.

I step out on the balcony, squinting against the fading sunlight of the afternoon. The scene before me is spectacular: a cozy marina tucked amidst green hills and valleys, unspoiled by man save for the numerous low-slung buildings with adobe-tiled roofs. Live music wafts over gently from across the water.

Looking at this, you might think you were living in some sort of mystical realm from days of yore, except for one thing: the harbor is filled with gargantuan, multi-million-dollar yachts.

This is Italy’s Emerald Coast, a ridiculously exclusive holiday destination for mega-ballers the world over, from Saudi princes to Jay-Z. I’m here with my boys on the RSD Executive Retreat.

Twice a year, the crew gets together in some exotic locale to catch up and get a little much-needed R&R. This, in my opinion, is incredibly valuable, and one of those little things that set our company apart.

With coaches scattered all over the globe, we don’t often get the chance to hang out and just shoot the breeze. The Executive Retreat makes that a possibility. It’s an opportunity for us to exchange new ideas about the game, new developments we’ve made in our individual programs, etc.

Think of it like a brain trust, a mastermind group. Whatever.

Anyway, this summer we’ve chosen Italy, and it’s been awesome. Ten days of pure relaxation, sipping on flutes of prosecco by the pool, checking out some of the world’s most famous cultural icons, and just unwinding after six long months of flying around the world doing back-to-back Bootcamps every weekend.

Logically, I shouldn’t have a care in the world. But in the back of my mind, there’s a nagging little ‘something’ that I can’t shake.

Two weeks from now, I’ve got to run a Bootcamp in Rome.

I know what you’re thinking. “Yeah? So what? You’ve done hundreds of these things… how is this any different?”

Here’s the deal: thus far, my experience in the clubs here has NOT been pretty.

Nobody speaks English (shocking, I know). Verbal game is rendered useless; all you can do is launch the CLAW and hope for the best.

Nonetheless, we’ve been slogging it out like good little soldiers, and generally going down in a blaze of glory, as the song goes. Basically, my approaches have been looking something like this: walk up to Italian girl, CLAW, it opens, she realizes I’m an American that can’t speak her language, blown out.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

But you know what? That’s all fine and dandy.

I’ve long since divorced any sort of emotion from my success or lack thereof in the field. And partying hasn’t really been the focus of this trip for me anyway… I came to relax. When your entire LIFE is game, it’s nice to just chill out for a while. Necessary, even.

In two weeks, however, that’s not going to be an option. In two weeks, I will be going out with some fine gentlemen who have expended considerable resources in order to be taught this skill. It will be my job to inspire these men, to show them how a real playboy GETS IT DONE.

And I’ll have to do it without verbal game.

–gulp-

I think back to 2003, when I first joined up with RSD. I was an unpaid “guest instructor/trainee” and to be honest, at times I felt pretty lost. For the first six months or so, I was kind of treading water, just hoping that nobody would notice that I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.

Over time though, I learned the ins and outs of Bootcamp administration. Make no mistake, there’s a very unique skill set that’s involved.

You need to see exactly what these people are doing wrong, and you have to know how to fix it, fast.

When they ask you a question about girls on the street, the dance floor, hell – the moon – you’d better have an answer.

It’s not just that though. Your students expect you to sort them out right down to the level of core self-image.

When they get scared, you have to reassure them. When they get down on themselves, you’ve got to pull out your best Braveheart impression, CPR their ass out of it, and get them back in the fight.

When they freak out because your advice hits too close to a nerve – and sometimes it will – you need to chill them out while standing your ground.

If they don’t learn because they can’t see past THEIR OWN EGOS – it’s YOUR fault.

Whatever goes wrong is always YOUR fault. Always.

And that’s fine.

Some people wonder why it’s so expensive to take a Bootcamp; I wonder why it’s so cheap.

And that’s one night of one Bootcamp.

I’ve been doing this three nights a week, every single weekend. For four years.

I’ll say it again. That’s FOUR YEARS.

That’s the kind of pressure that either breaks a guy or makes a guy.

I’m proud to say I’ve done more than survive it... I’ve thrived.

Now, I’m so proficient it’s literally SICK. I could (and HAVE) run a program with two cracked ribs, food poisoning and a 102 degree fever and still get them a good result.

I’m a professional, plain and simple.

Regardless, even after four years, the bottom line in this biz is still “produce or go home.” It always has been, unequivocally.

No matter how seasoned you are, you never have the luxury of having an “off night.”

If you have a bad night, the student will have a bad night as well. If you mess up, thousands will hear about it online. In graphic detail. At length. Three times over.

I can’t have a mediocre night. I don’t have that option. I have to deliver nothing less than inspirational brilliance.

And you know what?

I’m totally fine with that, too.

Rock and roll, deal with it.

But THIS, this is something entirely new. Now you’re telling me I have to attract girls who won’t be able to understand a word I’m saying?

Oh man.

In light of my dismal performance here thus far, this Bootcamp could very well turn out to be a disaster.

The day of the program arrives. I look in the mirror. “All right, buddy,” I say, “Let’s do this.”

In the elevator, my heart is racing. It feels like there’s ice melting in my chest. I walk into the hotel lobby and meet the students.

Introductions are made, and we sit down to talk. They have that look in their eyes. It says, “I’m ready to learn. I’m counting on you to help me. Teach me.”

And something clicks. All that static EVAPORATES. A smirk creeps across my face. My eyes narrow. I KNOW.

Jlaix is here, bitches.

We hit up this open air club on the bank of the Tiber and it’s dreamtime. I’m adrift in a sea of gypsy mullets, a parade of ridiculous clothes with no sleeves and sparkly stones on the ass. As if on cue, the DJ drops the ubiquitous club hit of the summer, “Relax” by Mika. The whole trip, every club, bar, pizza shop, and passing car in Italy has been bumping this track.

Relax, take it easy
For there is nothing that we can do.
Relax, take it easy
Blame it on me or blame it on you.

It’s as if I’m scared.
It’s as if I’m terrified.
It’s as if I scared.
It’s as if I’m playing with fire.
Scared.
It’s as if I’m terrified.
Are you scared?
Are we playing with fire?

All of a sudden, it doesn’t matter that I can’t speak Italian. It doesn’t matter at all. My nimbus ignites; I go super saiyan and blast off.

I’m spouting straight nonsense. I roll up on them, simultaneously flashing my Giant Iced-Out Pinky Ring and iPhone and I yell, "You like American Billionaire?! Yes?! BILL-EE-OH-NAIRE!!"

This elicits either massive giggling followed by an almost child-like fascination with the phone, or a disgusted sneer followed by a backturn. “RIGHTO!”

All concerns about “looking bad” in front of the students are GONE. They can see how utterly unfazed I am by any sort of less-than-favorable response. I am completely unaffected, swirling through the club with that dumb grin on my face, bopping around, clapping. I’m clearly drawing my state from within, as opposed to from the environment.

I encounter a group of sixteen-year-olds with rudimentary English skills, getting wasted on the dance floor. After regaling them with the "American Billionaire" bit, they begin pawing at the phone in a fashion reminiscent of the protohumans in "2001: A Space Odyssey" when they first stumble upon the monolith.

I inform them that we just arrived in our yacht with 50 Cent, and we are here to "drill for oil under the Vatican in order to fund our War of Terror." I begin quizzing the blonde about her oral hygiene habits.

Flossin'.

By the end of the night, I’m off in a corner with a Brazilian girl who happens to have huge boobs, examining her necklaces. “Where’d you get these?” I ask.

“Brazil,” she replies.

I grab her tits with both hands and give her the wolf smile. “How about these? You get these in Brazil too?” The student’s chilling off to the side; I wink at him and proceed to make out with her.

Nice.

See, at the end of the day, my apprehension about the program proved to be unfounded. And on a certain level, I knew that all along, from the very beginning.

Let’s face it: I’m a bit of a drama queen.

Don’t get me wrong, I knew it would be challenging. There was indeed a very real possibility that I would blow the program. After all, up to that point none of my approaches in Italy had gone well.

But those approaches were on MY time. If they didn’t work out, oh well, no biggie, grab another Peroni and take a nap on the beach.

Once that Bootcamp started, however, it was a whole new ballgame. No more excuses. With the students depending on me, I HAD TO make it happen, no matter what the cost. They gave me the LEVERAGE to do what was necessary to succeed.

If you’re familiar with Tony Robbins, you’ve probably heard him talk about this.

“A lever is a device that we utilize in order to lift or move a tremendous burden we could not manage on our own. In my experience, 20% of any change is knowing ‘how to change’ but 80% is knowing ‘why you must.’

Change requires more than just establishing the knowledge that you should change. It is about knowing at the deepest, most basic emotional level that you must change. If we gather a strong enough set of reasons, we can change in a minute something we’ve failed to change for years.

Those reasons—the why—are what provide the leverage. And the greatest leverage you can create for yourself is the pain that comes from inside, not outside. The pain of knowing that you have failed to live up to your own standards for your life.

Access enough leverage and there will be nothing you can’t change.”

What you’ve gotta understand is this:

I *chose* to do the Rome Bootcamp, knowing full well ahead of time that it would be challenging… dangerously so.

I made the decision to put the program up on the schedule. I put myself in that position intentionally, because I realize that the times of my life when I’ve experienced the greatest, most rapid growth have been in those “do or die” situations.

Before the program, it was, “Yeah, I should pick up some of these Italian girls. That would be pretty cool.”

During the program, it was, “I MUST pick these girls up. Right now.”

If you want to get good at this stuff, you have to find a way to get this kind of leverage on yourself. Otherwise, you’re going to flounder around at it half-heartedly and you’re just not going to see the results you want.

I’ve been using this same principle since the very beginning of my pickup “career.”

At age 26, after a series of mind-bogglingly disastrous monogamous relationships, I decided that I’d had ENOUGH.

It was time to take the power back. Time to become a player.

Granted, my motivations for getting into the game were less than noble at the time, and they’ve since evolved. Regardless, my mission statement, my prime directive if you will, was crystal clear:

GET LAID OR DIE TRYING.

I had the HUNGER. I was going to get this area handled, no matter how hard it was or how long it took.

It was not a “should.” It was a “MUST.”

I remember those first awkward months of going out and trying this stuff out. Of course, back then there was no RSD; there were no formal schools or professional-level resources available to help guys get good with women. I’d simply read the seduction groups on Usenet and then hit the club, trying out anything and everything and seeing what would stick.

And to be honest, not a whole lot did.

It was rough as hell. I’d get blown out super hard, with girls calling me a moron, jerk, and any other pejorative you can think of. It was terrifying and humiliating all at once.

After yet another horrible night, I’d arrive home, alone, in a drunken rage, and throw my television out the front window (yes, I actually did that). I’d pace around the house, berating myself. “What are you doing? You’re NOT getting better at this, you’re just making a fool of yourself,” etc.

But I kept at it. I didn’t quit, because that was NOT an option. I was going to get good at this… there was simply no alternative.

And eventually, I did begin to get better. And that’s when the game started to get FUN.

Like, REALLY REALLY fun.

Over the years, as I evolved and matured, I continued to put myself into situations that REQUIRED brilliance, in order to relentlessly push myself further.

This is related to the CLOSER mentality. It’s the attitude that separates the great from the merely “good.”

You’ve got to make that decision. Start by associating massive pain to your “chode” identity and behaviors, and begin to get excited about your new identity: that of a cool, social, naturally attractive MAN.

Chode time is over. NO MORE.

At the end of the program in Rome, I say goodbye to my students. This time, there’s a different look in their eyes. A look of conviction, with a magical little twinkle behind it all. They’ve gotten the leverage, and they’ve flipped the switch. Great things are in their future.

The very next weekend, I do a program in London.

We’re in Tiger Tiger, the cheesiest club in all of London, maybe the world. I’m doing a demonstration for the students, and it’s on. I’m pitch-perfect. I befriend the peer group, kiss the girl, get her phone number and eject. The whole thing takes about ten minutes.

I walk back over to the students. I ask, “All right guys, did you see that?”

Two of the guys are grinning… hell yeah they saw it. But the third guy goes, “No, I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry.”

I give him a stern glare and sigh. “Damn it, now I’m gonna have to do it again. WATCH THIS TIME.”

I look around, and very purposefully saunter up to the first set of attractive girls I see.

“OH MY GOD YOU GUYS,” I say, “you are the most glorious and lovely vixens I have ever seen in my fucking life. I just want to hug you!” I give them a group hug and they’re all smiles, loving it. I close in on the hottest of the group and give her the laser eyes. I murmur, “And this one…” I cut the distance and kiss her; she kisses back.

The whole thing takes about twenty seconds.

And so it goes.

When I got back to San Francisco at long last, I decided to take a little time off to recharge my batteries and prepare for the launch of The Jeffy Show.

It’s been five weeks of reading, reconnecting with my “civilian” friends, going to the gym, writing, sex, cooking, playing Aerobie in the park with no shirt on like my hero Matthew McConaughey, etc. It’s been nice.

Now my vacation’s over. I’ve got three students on deck for this weekend. And a tiny little part of me wonders, “Am I rusty? Maybe I took too much time off. Am I gonna be able to deliver the outstanding program these guys deserve?”

What do you think?

Heheheh.

Take your passion and make it happen.

-jlaix
www.jeffyshow.com