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!

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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’.

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