The goal of a man is to identify his weaknesses, eliminate them, and then start crushing life right in the asshole. At least, that’s what my constant intake of wisdom from Tim Ferris, Tai Lopez, Jordan Belfort, and other cool white and white-ish guys has taught me.
No tome is more frequently recommended by my sociopathic idols than Sun Tzu’s “The Art of War.” Ostensibly a collection of tactics for obsolete military battles, this book actually contains secrets and strategies for manipulating everyone around you, bending opponents to your will, and making it rain like Jeff Bezos at a human trafficking auction.
But there’s just one problem. I’ve read this boring-ass book like 4 times now, and I’m still a broke coward!
First of all, nothing in this book translates to my life at all. The opening chapter is all about planning, but it doesn’t tell me what to plan. I have no skills or ideas for anything whatsoever, and I am extremely risk-averse. I once decided to play the lottery and was so distraught at the prospect of losing that I couldn’t even watch them read the numbers on TV. So what the fuck am I supposed to plan?
Chapter 5 is all about momentum and wielding your energy. Ok, well, I sleep about 15 hours per day and spend most of the other time streaming myself playing Conker’s Bad Fur Day on Twitch to an audience of up to 3 while my mom pays my rent. Again, not seeing how anything in this chapter can help me become the multi-millionaire felon I dream of being.
It ends with possibly the most bewildering chapter, which is about gaining intelligence via spies. Easy for you to say, Sun Tzu, who probably had like dozens of friends. But what if someone like me, a friendless dummy with a very wet cough, wants to wage war? Did you ever think of that? No, you fool.
So don’t believe the hype. Sun Tzu’s “The Art of War” sucks absolute shit and won’t help you make any scratch. But maybe watching Glengarry Glen Ross for the 22nd time will?