The Wingman’s Guide to Parade Day Creepin’ Teaser


   How do you feel about sexy girls who aren’t thinking of the morality of their decisions? Personally, I’m a fan.

I wouldn’t exactly call them girlfriend material, but for meaningless random hookups what could be better? That’s why even more than Halloween; Scranton’s Saint Patrick’s Parade Day has always been my favorite holiday of creepin’.

It’s a marathon day full of drunken girls that just don’t care. It’s the perfect birthday celebration for me as my 27th is March 10th, but the true celebration will be Saturday.

My entourage and I have always enjoyed a wicked game I created. Get yourself a stack of index cards, and give one to each friend.

Every girl you makeout with, you rate on a scale of negative-two to 10. For other acts – e.g., booby touching, breast sucking, finger banging, muff diving, hand jobs, blowjobs, traditional sex, anal sex, other sick shit you and your friends are into – figure out a system of additional points for each endeavor. When Parade Day culminates – it begins when you start partying in the morning and ends when you finally go home – the one with the high score wins.

If you actually have a group of “real friends” you should be able to utilize the honor system. However, if your friends are fake untrustworthy cocksuckers then require a witness. My boys and I are old school so we trust each other.


Look for “The Wingman Chronicles” hitting book stores in next year to read the rest of the story!

Players are ideal boyfriends Teaser


Often times people think players are incapable of getting attached but that is completely untrue.

As lotharios, we want to have a good time and enjoy uncouth adventures, but when that rare connection that isn’t based on sex comes along, we get more obsessed and enthralled than most people ever could because we know it’s real.

While we’re confident that we’ll always find girls to hook up with, hang out with, and have fun with; while we know we’ll always be able to find other relationships, we’re scared to death that we’ll never have a connection of that magnitude again.

“Once players find someone they could connect to and find that somebody that gets them, they get a strong attraction to them,” said my sex therapist Kylie, who’s been heard on radio stations The Bear, 97 BHT, 98.5 KRZ and Rock 107. “They become intensely attached because they don’t think that anyone else is gonna get them. All the other girls are meaningless whores and hos.”

Players enjoy the thrill of the chase and the seduction, but the reason we rarely get attached is because we’re not just going to fall in love with any girl who talks to us, or any broad we think is hot.


Look for “The Wingman Chronicles” hitting book stores in next year to read the rest of the story!

Chronology of Creepin’

A minute-by-minute account of an evening with The Wingman.


   Whether it’s a classy lounge, bumpin’ dance club, an upscale restaurant or a frightening dive – the girls are out to get fucked. The best dressed and sexiest are the ones most fantasizing about being mauled like a dirty zoo animal.

   Here’s a chronological account of a night of creepin’.

   7:30 p.m. As I primp my 7 o’clock shadow, I think of the typical broads I’ll see out – one wannabe socialite who never showed interest, and a crazy bitch I never called again and plan to avoid stick out.

   7:40 p.m. – Optimistic, I reflect upon the countless chicks I could close as I conduct a routine shower jerk. You don’t want to venture out with a loaded weapon or you’ll be spitting incoherent garblings all night.

   7:55 p.m. I’m in the zone as I adorn myself in black on black, right down to my boxer briefs. You know, in case there’s skid marks. I’m not saying I don’t wipe properly, but you could never be too careful.

   8:00 p.m. My Bed Head manipulator heightens my spiked hair to perfection. I look clean, and think dirty.

   8:30 p.m. Time for some sushi or Italian and libations in an establishment worthy of an old-school gentleman, while running game on patrons and the help. A lot of these dames get off work in time to go out, so I always attempt to woo some service industry sluts into joining a post-work party.

   11 p.m. – At the Colosseum I dance with a girl I’ve wanted since meeting her a few months back. She threw signals, but ever since, nothing. She’s not the hottest – her face is slightly busted – but there’s something about the challenge of a girl that doesn’t respond, and the slutty way she grinds her voluptuous ass and monster rack.

   Midnight I make contact with a vixen I notice eye fucking me. I get her a Malibu Bay Breeze and we sit in the VIP room talking and, within minutes, making out.

   1 a.m. As we gasp for air I notice she makes eye contact with a girl on the next couch. “You think she’s cute,” I ask.

  “Yeah,” the brunette answers.

   “Get on that,” I say.

   She hesitates, but after another nod, she moves toward the couch where the blonde in the white dress sips a Cosmo. Within minutes, they’re enjoying an extended makeout. Finally, I’m called from the bench to acquaint myself with her new girlfriend. I introduce myself, and she’s kissing me.

   1:30 a.m. – I’m easily locked up to go home with the original mark and our new BFF is ready to leave with us. “Wait,” the girl in white says. “I can’t find my phone.” She looks, we look, the place closes and we’re still scouring for her I-Phone. Only now we’re joined by three obnoxiously loud cockblockers that insist they’re her ride home. Okay. The threesome will have to wait. Fuck.

   2:15 a.m. – We leave the Scranton hot spot. I know I’m still gonna get laid, but I had my heart set on an orgy. Life is tough. 

   2:55 a.m. — Uncouth exploits ensue for two.

   5:15 a.m. – We’re sexed out and pass out.

   7:20 a.m. – An alarm BLARES. “You gotta get up! You gotta get up!” she screams.

   “I’m not ready to go again yet,” I yawn. “After breakfast I’ll bang you. I just hope you have Gatorade.”

   “No,” she retorts. “My husband works nights. He’ll be home soon.”

   “What? So I gotta get up?” I ask. “And what about breakfast? You told me how good you were with breakfast meats. I feel betrayed.”

   “Next time, okay?” she says.

   “But that means I have to call you again,” I say. “I thought this was a one-night kinda thing. I don’t wanna violate protocol… Fine! I’ll come back again for bacon!”

   7: 45 a.m. – Speaking of, time for a bacon, egg and cheese bagel from Mickey Ds, and a long day of sleepin’ off the creepin’.

Wingman’s Sex Therapy Teaser

Although I’ve never had a problem closing broads you all know lately I’ve been having my own issues with a sometimes lesbian, usually bisexual, always crazy bitch.

My ex-girlfriend, who I’d been seeing every day for the relationship stuff, after a day time fuck last week cried to me with the news that she’s a lesbian. That’s a shock when things seemed perfect. It was like a Nun telling me she just gave me herpes.

While we had a few days of intense arguments and haven’t hooked up since her “coming out party” we’re back to our general closeness, we never missed a day of talking, and she’s shown flashes of having great sexual interest in me once again.

A devout reader was kind enough to reach out to me offering her unabashed wingwoman’s perspective. It comes via Kylie, a former radio sex therapist, who has appeared on The Bear, 97 BHT, 98.5 KRZ, and Rock 107. In fact, Kylie is the first to admit that she too is a “crazy bitch” who although straight has no problem playing with the girls from time to time.

“She’s absolutely 100 percent not a lesbian,” Kylie said of my crazy bitch. “It’s a combination of the shock value of getting the attention that she needs, and pushing away from her true emotions about the situation.”


Look for “The Wingman Chronicles” hitting book stores in next year to read the rest of the story!

Bisexual Wingwoman Teaser

As I drove down 81 from Scranton to Wilkes-Barre, a bare-assed blonde nympho straddled my best friend in the backseat as he smashed her head off the ceiling.

My girl, who was on the rag, made a move to initiate road head from the passenger seat, but pulled back. “You’re swerving all over the road as it is,” she exclaimed. “You’ve been drinking.”

ME: “This is the way I drive. You know that… I know how to handle road head. I’ve had many road head experiences.”

Honestly I think that was her way out since I couldn’t return the favor, and she refuses to fuck me on the rag. My girl prides herself on keeping a clean poon and doesn’t want me anywhere near it if the situation is less than stellar.

As the little nympho shrieked and panted, my girl and I made eye contact with Mike, as he sported the goofiest wide eyed smile. He was like a junior high kid peeping on a ladder outside the prom queen’s window.

The person to be credited with agenting this adventure wasn’t me, but my girl, who happens to share my wingman skills. She manipulated her buddy’s bisexual lust for her to manifest one of the dirtiest, and certainly, most emotional lays of Mike’s life.


Look for “The Wingman Chronicles” hitting book stores in next year to read the rest of the story!

Crazy Bitches Teaser


Almost all girls are undiagnosed schizophrenics possessing a variety of offbeat characters that could come out at any time. Figuring out who we might get at a particular moment is like a game of high-stakes Russian Roulette.

Lately I’ve been seeing my Jekyll and Hyde of an ex-girlfriend, and my friends and family have been telling me I need to totally eradicate her from my life.

What started as commitment free moments and passionate sex with meaning, has again translated into seeing each other every day and her calling and texting me constantly. I have to say, I like it.

But here’s the thing. She has five to seven distinct personalities going on on any given day, and there are a couple of them I really don’t like.

But if you don’t like one person in a group of friends, does that mean you can’t be friends with any of them? This isn’t junior high.

It’s the same thing with my ex, except all the people are crammed into one tiny 4-foot-10-inch body. The only thing that sucks is I can’t use a wingman to handle the bad apples of the group. I don’t want any of my friends touching her.


Look for “The Wingman Chronicles” hitting book stores in next year to read the rest of the story!

Remembering Tink’s Slopisodes Teaser

Moments before 2 a.m. and bodies were strewn across the floor, people bent over and passed out, the mirror-less bathroom in shambles as if Custer’s Last Stand just culminated.

A coherent sentence was nearly impossible to find in the grimy warzone, as conversation was at this point limited to slurred garblings even a most astute translator couldn’t comprehend.

It was just another drunken night at Tink’s Entertainment Complex in downtown Scranton, where the devoted partiers were incapacitated by the venue’s popular penny drink happy hour. Now the Linden Street institution is history as Hardware Bar gets ready to take over with a New Year’s Eve Grand Opening Thursday.

So I’ve decided to remember the sloptacular memories where I walked through the ravaged battlefield, enjoying sloppy public displays of horniness and suffering unexplained bar injuries.

Tink’s was nearly impossible to get thrown out of. You could stab a guy and the bouncers would be like: “Just keep your distance from him, and don’t do it again.”

It was a badge of honor (or dishonor) to get dirty enough to get the boot. I remember some regulars who managed to get the “lifetime ban” constantly, but within a couple weeks the place probably found it was losing too much money and brought them back.


Look for “The Wingman Chronicles” hitting book stores in next year to read the rest of the story!