Friday, September 4, 2015


People have become officially lazy.

One common sentence that has been thrown around recently by single girlfriends of mine is, "Men don't pick up girls anymore". With the rising yet empty star Tinder taking over our love, life and loins- the art of picking up has fallen by the wayside. Its an epidemic and its time we took a stand and changed what we now know as our dwindling love lives. This is where I come in. Not to say I am an expert on this, but if I had a penis I am 84% sure that I would have some bombshell lying between my legs and sheets about now.

But alas, a penis I have not. However, I do have some handy tips that will hopefully help the men of Sydney get off their asses and phones, and face their fears head on in the hopes of at least a gobbie.


Chicks LOVE this shit. "Oh hey Shirley, did you hear about the latest pop up bar in Hyde Park?", "Yeah I sure did Tiffany, they are selling elderflower and semen flavoured gin martinis in tiny tiny jars down there for only $26 a pop, we should totally go". Well then boys, what are you doing just standing around? Head down to your local pop up, which we know in Sydney, there is always one happening every single day all throughout the year and try your hardest at scoring some tail. Throw on your nicest slacks from Factorie or Bonds or wherever you get your jeans and sit in the corner making prolonged eye contact with the babe of your choice until she is forced to say, "What the fuck are you looking at?"


Now in Australia, we are becoming known for our off the cuff directing skills and there being some form of racist fuckwit on board your local train, bus or ferry. Not only will you have the balls (right?) to stand up to someone while simultaneously filming them, but the gals on board will admire your hutzpah. If this fails and everyone on your bus seems to be a respectful and well rounded person (yawn), you will have to go to your local optometrist, cross your fingers that you don't have 20/20 and get yourself some spectacles. Put on said spectacles and read a book. This will win over all of the chicks who follow that NYC based Instagram called 'Hot dudes reading' or some shit and you will soon be reading all of the curves of her supple body. You're welcome. Whatever you do though, make sure your fly is done up all the way before throwing down some moves, or you will just be that weirdo on the 308.


All of us Inner West fuck lords know about Black Star Pastry. Not only does it hold host to one of the best cakes in the universe (Watermelon cake), but there is always at least a 30 metre line spilling out of there at all times on a weekend. Utilise this boys. You look like you give a shit about sweet things, and you look like you have patience, money, and a taste for carrot cake. Chicks love carrot cake. Use this time to softly gaze beyond your knock off Ray Ban clubmasters and stroke your inevitable beard as you genuinely decide between the brownie and walking away to save 25 minutes of your precious life.


Fuck me. Chicks love dogs. Get yourself some form of Oodle, Bulldog or squished face hound and wait. In fact, if you can find a way to traipse about the city while walking said mutt, all the better. But in a dog park you can not only be the hero if some massive doberman goes a girl's pug, you can also seductively bend down while picking up your dog's business while looking back at your woman of choice and giving the slowest wink you could possibly muster. This will remind her of how she always wanted a man who knows how to stack the dishwasher, and she will go home and put some more cut outs from Woman's Day on her positivity board and think of you while touching herself to Ed Sheeran's latest album.


This is for people who live East of Moore Park Road. All you people who right now are yogging around Centennial Park while listening to a Spotify Playlist of 'RUNNING TRAX' which mainly consist of poorly mashed up dance songs from the early 2000's. I always hear on Z-List dating shows about how a man wants a woman who can "take care of herself", don't fucking bullshit anyone dude- you want a chick who will "eat a steak with your mates" while going on juice cleanses on the days she doesn't see you so she can uphold that Jessica Rowe body you've been frothing on since you were 13. If this is the kind of girl you're after, head to Bondi to Bronte beach walk and weirdly work out on those things that are dotted along the coastline as you check out the local talent and the INSANE amount of Lorna Jane sports bras that bounce up and down, up and down and the girl in question has a silent monologue running through her head about whether or not quinoa is a super food, or whether The Project has lied to her that week. Fuck you Carrie Bickmore.

Just give up, ay.


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