The ongoing Obama spectacle is a party to which I was not invited. Thus, I’m trying to keep low profile. There are battles to be fought, but I will gain nothing by interrupting the march to communal O-gasm.
Roissy in DC, as a devout hedonist, sees an opportunity:
Having been through a couple Inaugural weekends here in DC, I can report that the women who have flocked into the city for Harem Leader Hopenchange are drunker, looser, and wilder than the chicks who descended on the city for W’s swearing in. Inaugural Balls should be renamed Fall On My Balls.
For the lustful, it’s good to be amidst a crowd convinced of rapture. Even Herbs have a shot:
Thanks to the simple psychological tricks of transference and anchoring (co-opted into various PUA teachings) you can move those Obamamamas’ horny feelings from a nebulous and phantom-like cloudgod Barack to the very real in-the-flesh man standing in front of her.
You: This is a great time to be alive. Can’t you just feel the energy in the city! It’s like it’s bringing everyone closer [touch her on the back of the upper arm] together. Don’t you feel it??!
Her: Si se peude!