I feel like an anthropologist. My ability to exude at will what looks like stupidity allows me to freely approach the natives of many tribes nestled within the jungles of Tokyo. This innocuous and noncompetitive persona is especially attractive to some of the more affluent and celebrated of the jungle who have need of a dependable side-kick now and then. And I’m not gritting my teeth when I assume that role. I’m about as competitive as a bulldog in a greyhound race.
The reasons for this are varied, but the largest is my belief that girls can make up their own minds. My type of girl can easily sniff out the single whiff of honesty through the stench of deceit in a room of 200 indistinguishable males. Whenever I have a new romantic prospect, I introduce her to my better-looking, more-affluent and sweeter-talking male friends. If she attaches herself to one of them because he’s a better match, I’m quite content to have introduced them. If she attaches herself to one of them out of gullibility, I’ll have passed her on without experiencing any of the drama that would have no doubt later occurred. I’ve had considerable success with this strategy. So this uncompetitive nature allows me to mingle with even the more aggressive alpha-males within most tribes.