The Game

in trust between Papa and me), house members think that it’s appropriate to intervene in my private sex life. This is an intolerable situation for me. I’ve been told that my ex-girlfriend, who has demonstrated numerous times that she is untrustworthy, will be allowed back in the house in two months.
    If she comes back (which Papa hopes), then this forces me out of the house because I do not want such a toxic person near my friends or me. Unless the restraining order Katya is threatening to file against me keeps her out of my house, such involvement in my personal affairs will likely cause irrevocable bitterness.
    As for those who say I need psychological help, the greatest solution to depression is not paying some stranger to listen to you or taking drugs, which is just a short-term fix for when things hit rock bottom. The long-term fix is a positive social environment filled with friends who will listen and share your challenges. That is what Project Hollywood was supposed to be. If anyone would like to talk to me openly about the situation and why I do not endorse living here, call me. I don’t want anyone else to get ripped off and hurt as I have been. Know the culture before making any decision to move here.
    ‘Nuff said.

    —Mystery

    P.S. If I move out, I will be selling my bed. I’ve only slept with ten girls on it so it’s very clean. It’s a California king-sized bed. The price is $900 cash and does not include comforter or sheets.
    Here is a list of who’s been bedded on the bed:

    1. Joanne the stripper

    2. Mary the blonde model

    3. The hot bartender from the Spider Club

    4. Sima the ex-girlfriend from Toronto

    5. Katya the *&%!

    6. Gabby the gabber

    7. Jen the nineteen-year-old hottie

    8. Vision’s cousin (I know, but I still enjoyed her)

    9. Twyla the personal assistant
    10. The six-foot tall model I scared away (third base only)

    I think that’s everyone. It’s a great bed. Firm. Eleven happy people.

    MSN GROUP: Mystery’s Lounge
    SUBJECT: Field Report—Mystery Meets His Future Wife
    AUTHOR: Mystery

    I have met my future wife. And I have decided not to tell you about her. She is that important and that classy. She is my dream girl (at least I think she is so far).
    Unlike the last girl, I will not make her public. This time I will start from scratch and not undermine my relationship by sharing it with you guys. I will be more loyal to her than to you because the bros before hos ethic only applies if you think of the girl as a ho.
    Here is all you need to know: I met her briefly when I was in Chicago, doing my last workshop with Herbal. I met her for seven minutes and then numberclosed. We have spoken on the phone since for hours and hours. I love her personality. And, yes, body- and face-wise, she is a 10. I have talked with her mom on the phone, and she likes me too. This girl is coming to Los Angeles to visit me for a week. I bought her a flight. My family will be arriving the same week and they will meet.
    Though we have only been in each other’s presence for seven minutes, I predict that I will marry her, live with her, and possibly have kids with her. How is that for a prediction, huh? From the world’s greatest pickup artist.
    You won’t see her winging my workshops because I will refrain from exploiting her unless she wants to help out for shits and giggles. She is untouchable to this paltry gang of misfits. She isn’t a party girl like the last five girls. She may look like one (mmm) but she is perfection, at least to me. My friends will meet her soon.
    As for all the other PUAs, stay away from her because you know I bite.

    Love,
Mystery

Mystery sulked through the trash-strewn house in his robe, telling anyone who would listen about the former student who was stealing his business and the bitch who ruined his life. Any attempt to get him into therapy was dismissed with a long-winded explanation of how his emotions and actions were evolutionarily justified. The window of vulnerability and honesty that had opened when he broke down in the house meeting had closed. His frame had reasserted itself; his mind had rebuilt the tortuous walls separating rationalization from reality.
    Though he wasn’t upset with me, I felt guilty. The compromise that was effectively pushing him out of the house had been my decision. So much for my Solomon-like wisdom.
    To make matters worse, Katya was twisting the knife. She’d given her landlord sixty days notice, and planned to move