Futuristic Words

If you’re reading this, there’s an excellent chance you saw the Love Systems appearance on the Tyra Banks show last Friday. I don’t know how much I can add that Braddock and Savoy haven’t already discussed, but it was great seeing our company framed in such a positive light. I echo Braddock’s wish that Tyra had taken the time to delve into the Love Systems products and the boot camp experience in greater detail. We are doing missionary work, enriching the dating landscape by adding interesting men to women’s prospective evenings.

I will be in Orlando next weekend. 31 July – 2 August, with Tenmagnet and Cajun.

Two weeks later, 15-16 August, I will be at the Playboy Mansion with Cajun, dahunter, and Savoy at the Advanced Boot Camp.

I’m still working out my schedule after that, but stay tuned. There’s some exciting stuff in the works.

Well, folks, the time has come. This Friday, Love Systems will come under the blazing microscope of the media machine. This time, the scrutiny will come from this generation’s champion of dialectic inquisition, Ms. Tyra Lynne Banks. If you are sitting around your house with your hand shoved into a pint of ice cream this week and you’ve grown tired of Days of Our Lives (DAMN YOU, STEFANO!), take a half hour to see how well Savoy and Braddock withstand withering lashes of probing insight from the woman who dared to put on a fat suit and reveal to a shocked public that beautiful women are treated with more deference and kindness than fat women are. If that was your first encounter with that information, I hope you were sitting down. I’ll give you time to pick your jaw up from the keyboard.

Internal babble suggests that while Braddock and Savoy’s appearance didn’t seem to be a hate-fest, there is no telling how these things take shape during the editing process.

Speaking of media traffic, articles have surfaced on the web from the two journalists who sat in on our recent New York boot camp. (cf. the one where Future almost lost his copy of Blood Meridian) The first one, linked here, is actually rather flattering. The second one is a bit cheeky, but the author pretty much nailed her description of me when she called me an “excitable emo ginger” before she proceeded to malign my Standard Issue Direct Opener.

Adorable. I’ll retort with video before the Tyra Banks episode airs. Stay tuned. In the mean time I’ll whet your appetite with the opener in question:

“I couldn’t help but notice you from [across the park/ over there/ outside your window/ across the subway car/ wherever you were when you noticed her], and I knew that if I didn’t come talk to you I was going to be kicking myself, and I had to come find out if there was more to yout than meets the eye. Is there?”

(To be fair, Day Game Ninja Soul’s opener probably works more consistently, but we must all tune our game to ourselves. Daddy Future has a controversial personality and a somewhat, ahem, coarse sense of humor. I screen early, bitches.)

Finally, if you like pretty girls, you should go to Montreal.
Good.
God.
It is officially the neck-breakingest city in North America. I do not know why it is not talked about more, but I think the parents of Montreal need to be recognized for their clever and resourceful combinations of adenine, cytosine, guanine, and thymine. The human landscape of the second largest city in Canada is beyond belief. You can sit in the food court at the mall and in every direction is a creature who will put your salivary glands in overdrive. Sitting at the karaoke bar late at night? Check. Taking tickets at the movie theater? Check. Standing in tight, short shorts on every street corner? Check, check, check. I know it sounds like I’m overdoing it, but the density of hot (not cute. HOT) girls in Montreal was almost comedic. Then, get this: they’re Canadian. They speak French, they’re laid back, and they don’t treat you like their equivalent phenotypes in Los Angeles or New York or Chicago or Miami or Las Vegas would. If you are reading this blog and you have never been to Montreal, you need to unfuck yourself right-quick. I’d write more, but I have shit to do.