in Courtney’s life, the one that seemed to consume her most was romantic. The video director wasn’t returning her calls. It was a problem common to all women, no matter what they looked like or how famous they were.

Oh my God,” I said to her. “Did you see those two girls fighting outside?” “No,” she said. “What happened?” She was interested. She was talking to me. It was working. “Um, two girls were fighting over this little guy who was half their size. It was pretty brutal. He was just standing there laughing as the police came and arrested the girls.” She gi

Leopold Bloom imagines his impotent manhood in the bathwater and calls it the limp father of thousands. And then I thought, if I was smart enough to quote James Joyce in the bathtub, why did I feel so stupid in front of these girls? Finally, one of the twins walked in. I’d been hoping for both, but beggars can’t be choosers. With my back to her, I

memorization, and even meditation exercises. Yet, at the same time, there was something off about Tyler Durden. Vision had kicked him out of his house after finding him a snotty and ungrateful guest, constantly demanding to be shown new routines. And though Tyler’s field reports were fun and compelling, every time he had the option of getting laid,

removed my necklace and very slowly put it around her neck. “This is still mine,” I whispered, kissing her lightly. “It’s something to remember tonight by. But I want it back next time I see you. It’s very special to me.” As I walked away, I knew I’d just made her night. It didn’t even matter whether I got laid or not, because this was the game art

I walked my date back to her house after coffee. Her parents weren’t even home. All I had to say was, “Can I use the bathroom?,” and I could have been upstairs. But my mouth wouldn’t speak the words. Countless successful approaches had helped reduce my fear of social rejection and made me seem like a promising pickup artist to others, but inside I

STYLE: Are you thinking about suicide? MYSTERY: Yes. STYLE: How would you do it? MYSTERY: Drowning, because it’s what I’m most afraid of. STYLE: What keeps you from doing it? MYSTERY: I have to give away all my stuff. I dropped Patricia’s computer and broke it. So I want to give her mine. She needs a computer. STYLE: Did she care? MYSTERY: No, not

was just Mystery’s wing or Ross’s disciple or Steve P.’s hypnotic subject. Now I had to prove myself every time I went out. Guys in the community would ask behind my back, “How is Style? Is he any good?” If I didn’t walk up to a group of girls and make out with the hottest one within fifteen minutes, they’d think I was a fraud. Before I joined the

ward of the Humber River Regional Hospital. As Mystery’s mother opened the door for him, a four-set of girls poured out of an SUV parked in front of them. For a moment, a spark of life flickered in Mystery’s eyes. I watched him, hoping to hear him say those six magical words: “Is this your set or mine?” Then I’d know everything would be okay. But h