Negative game. That’s what me and my friend call it. The hotter the girl, the more negative game you need. Negs. Active disinterest. Hard qualification.

“What do you do?” I ask her.

“I’m a model,” she responds.

“A model in New York… shocking,” I respond with obvious disdain.

Negative game. These women eat it up. The drama. The excitement. The challenge. They’re fed a daily diet of constant, predictable validation from all angles. It becomes like cocaine to them. So when they meet someone who won’t give it to them, they just want it more.

But the negative game me and my friend do is just scratching the surface. It really is just surface game. We make these girls feel insecure about their looks and about whether we are attracted to them. But negative game goes DEEP. All the way to the soul. If you’re willing to dish it out, she’s willing to take it.

We’re at a party. She finally shows up. She’s the only cute one there. Me and my friend and my girl are talking, ignoring her, as we should. Eventually we start talking about relationships. Catnip for girls. She can’t help but talk about her situation.

“He’s an old friend from high school,” she tells us. “He got back in contact with me through facebook. I blocked him at first and then he contacted me through another account. He’s STALKING me!! But he was so persistent I ended up giving him my number and agreeing to meet with him.”

Hamster logic.

“He was such an asshole,” she continues. “He asked why I don’t have my Master’s Degree right now.”

“Do you want your master’s degree?” another girl at the party asks.

“No….” she says. Her eyes stare off into the distance and then look back down at her phone. No one else at the party is buried in their phone. But she is. She doesn’t give a shit what people there think.

“How do I get rid of him?” she asks the group.

“Just ignore him!” a guy responds.

“I should,” she says and looks back down at her phone.

She continues. “He said I was bipolar and that I needed medication.”

“Why are you even responding to this guy?” the guy prods further.

“I probably shouldn’t,” she says, looking back down at her phone.

Then her eyes widen.

“Oh my god!” she says. “He is SUCH an asshole.”

She shows me the phone. The last text from him reads, “Just kill yourself.”

She pulls the phone away from me, looking at the words in disbelief.

“What should I write back?!”