#SorryFeminists The Wingman is Back on Twitter!

Angry, desert-crotched, feminist cunts attempted to get me banned from Twitter, but I’m back, and ready to be filthier than ever. Why you ask? Because I care about my fans!

First off I’d like to thank all of my filthy fans who tweeted at me, as well as reaching out to me via Facebook comments, messages and emails since my twitter was suspended on Thursday afternoon. It meant so much to me to know that I’m not just a one night stand you throw out after I provide Earth-shattering multiple orgasms, but we’re in a serious and downright dirty relationship.

I’ve certainly never been committed to one woman the way I am to entertaining my fans all over the world.

I’m sorry I wasn’t around the past few days to keep you entertained, provide advice, and sexually harass my female fans—I know you love that—but although I’d been a bit ill I was taking the time to work simultaneously on two books… One, the much-anticipated sequel to “The Wingman Chronicles,” and the other a novel k that is something different but, nevertheless sick and hilarious. You will hear more about that other uncouth project soon.

Judging by the many messages and comments I’ve received, many of you wanted to know why I was suspended, or put in what some refer to as “Twitter Jail.” The answer is: The Feminists.

Often times I use a trending topic, a hashtag (#) phrase and tweet a succession of jokes, many of them raunchy and offensive, which seem to go over well with my legion of amazing, filthy, followers. Last Tuesday, October 9th, I tweeted a multitude of jokes using the trending #sorryfeminists hashtag, which prompted many feminists to tweet their outrage toward me. My fans, however, quickly jumped to the defense of me, my jokes, and my book and tweeted right back at the angry, desert-crotched, feminist cunts.

Well the feminist haters, who weren’t even followers of mine but were somehow stalking my @wingmanbiz twitter account (probably hoping I would bring irrigation to their desert crotches) took things a step further and contacted twitter requesting I be suspended for my offensive tweets. Twitter immediately suspended my account and took a look at the case the feminists plead only to come to the conclusion that I’d done nothing against twitter rules, and they must reinstate my @wingmanbiz account.

So I’m back, and ready for creepin’. If you really wanna get back at the feminist cunts who kept you from my tweets for five days, let’s make my book “The Wingman Chronicles” a bestseller, and get it picked up as a TV series!

Let’s keep me blowing up so I could tour to every one of your cities for X-rated standup shows, book signings, breast signings, and ass signings, too. No cocks please.

Thanks for the support! I certainly have the greatest, most supportive, and filthiest fans in the world!

Always your Wingman,

James Holeva

My filthy novel The Wingman Chronicles available in E-book & paperback on Amazon

In the UK get The Wingman Chronicles right here!

Advertisements

BALLS: THE KEY TO PUSSY

Innocent guys stand around the bar arms crossed and fidgety as they look on in utter awe at the tight asses and pert breasts of bootie shaking, whored-up, wannabe socialites.

The creeping impaired look on as vultures swarm these vixens, showering them in a sea of attention that they eat up like a bulimic stripper at a Chinese buffet with a puke bucket.

Knowing there’s no way they’ll ever exchange words with the club-light enhanced enchantresses, the wallflowers instead clamor to a glimmer of hope that they might graze a breast or an ass cheek when one swaggers by.

As the night comes to an end, the awkward and unconfident observers go home alone to pleasure themselves with thoughts of the unattainable sensually grinding to Flo Rida. Sometimes they’re so apprehensive that their sexual fantasies turn into porn films where they themselves aren’t even starring, but instead they conjure the image of the Affliction-clad toolboxes they saw cling to the ladies at the club.

This all could have been averted if they just made a fucking move. Girls love a guy with balls. That’s kind of hard to find these days so if you could at the very least fake like you have some, a girl who’s drunk and impressionable could buy it and you might be lucky enough to get her on her knees. The girls have done it before, why wouldn’t they do it again?

Introduce yourself, but then play it cool. Don’t cling to her like she’s your favorite jerkoff pillow. Make her wonder about you. Don’t fix your eyes on her tits, ass, or belly ring… Look her in the eye. The reason being that it’ll make her nervous, and therefore set you apart from the rest of the lecherous scavengers that have been questing after her.

Suddenly she’ll be wondering:

         “Why isn’t he looking at my boobs, why isn’t he looking at my ass, I’m dressed like a whore can’t he see that? Oh god, I look like shit. Excuse me while I go throw up.”

If you make a move and a broad thinks you’re an asshole and finds you annoying, she’ll still have more respect for you – the guy who takes a shot – than the pussy who stands in the corner all night with the dudes like he’s at a junior high dance. Remember, just because you are a pussy, doesn’t mean you’re getting pussy. It doesn’t matter that the broads have bisexual tendencies.

Groups of guys constantly spend their boy’s night out cockblocking themselves with worry.

      What do I say to her?

      What if she doesn’t like me?

      How do I ask her out?

      When do I kiss her?

      How do I make a move to go further?

      When do I stick my dick in her?

      Is it okay to come on her face?

      When’s the right time to stick it in her ass?

      How do I know if it’s okay to ask for a threesome?

      When is the right time to pee on her?

      Would she think it was weird if I asked her to fuck me in the ass with a strap-on?

 

There’s an endless stream of questions guys are constantly contemplating which simply get in the way of buying a girl a drink, ripping her clothes off, and fucking the shit out of her. It’s simply that easy. Just try to be safe, girls could be dirty.

 

      My humorous, erotic, autobiographical novel “The Wingman Chronicles” is now available on Amazon. Check out description, customer reviews and a free sample right here.

My filthy novel The Wingman Chronicles

Are you a Cockblocker?

Just about every group of girls has a cockblocker who does her best to keep the night from getting out of hand, or as I like to call it, becoming fun. No, you’re not protecting your friends, you’re making them hate you.

Obviously the guys trying to bang your buddies could do without you, but the reason your friends go out is not to hangout with you, catch up, chit-chat, support you through life’s foibles and milestones – nobody gives a fuck. The reason a girl gets dressed sexy, puts on uncomfortable heels or thigh high whore boots, and spends a night buying expensive drinks instead of sitting in bed drinking cheap boxed wine is to get fucked.

Who are you to stand in the way of that? A lot of your friends validate themselves by giving random guys bangs and blowjobs, and you’re looking to keep that from happening and take away a friend’s happiness? All I could say is how could you live with yourself?

But, granted a lot of you cockblockers are just cunts, however many of you possess self-delusion that keeps you from realizing how awful you are for everyone to be around. So I put together this guide that could help cockblockers figure out if they might be one so they could put a stop to it, or at least it could sink in for your friends that you’re stifling their adventure, and they should never talk to you again.

It’s very simple, you might be a cockblocker if…

 

You’re the least attractive girl in the group.

It doesn’t matter if you were the ace in the minors and are now relegated to bullpen status with the major league hotties, you’re still the one attracting the least amount of attention from guys.  Therefore, if guys are hitting on your friends and not you, you often defuse the situation so you’re not the only one without a dick to play with. You should either prove your worth by making out with girls in public, fucking guys in random places, and being more apt to degrade yourself, or go back to the minors where your troll-like looks will be more accepted.

You’re a prude.

Come on let’s face it, your friends go off at the end of the night with whoever looked decent, bought some shots and spun bullshit stories that made them drunkenly swoon and you called it an early night because you have respect for yourself and are saving it for a guy who means something. I know, I know, you’re not that kind of girl. Right, you’re a cunt instead. You really deserve to be dropped from your group of friends because you don’t exactly bring much to the table. In fact, your good girl act comes off kind of snobby. Not a turn-on.

You’re in a committed relationship, your friends are not.

You’ve been lucky enough to find that true love all ladies long for but you’re not gonna be that girl who drops her bitches. Yeah, well maybe they should drop you. Let me guess you party hard on the first couple cosmos and then 11 rolls around – “honey, you really should slow down. This place is dying down. I’m tired. You know how Ron gets if I’m out too late.” We get it, you have to go home and be miserable so why should your friends get to be dirty and happy?

You feel a need to protect your friends, or as I like to call it, ruin the party.

 Do you find yourself talking your friend out of things? “Do you really wanna do this with some random guy you just met, he’s only after one thing, he’ll like you more if you let him call you in the morning?” Maybe she doesn’t want to be liked more, maybe she’s drunk, horny and wants to have a rousing of round of rough sex with someone she’ll never see again. What’s wrong with that? We get it, nobody likes you and you want all of your friend’s attention for yourself.

You’re a new Mommy.

There are two types of mothers – moms who go out with the intention of being a whore on their day off — maybe they care about their kids, maybe they don’t, maybe they’re a good mother, maybe they’re awful, doesn’t matter at the bar — we like this type of Mommy. And then, there’s the Mom that goes out with her group of friends to brag how she has a baby and they don’t, and when a random dude is trying to makeout with your BFF you’re shoving baby pictures in her face. Your girlfriends do not care how cute your son who’s probably gonna turn out to be gay looked in his sailor outfit, they care about getting fucked. There’s a reason you no longer get as many texts to hangout, because you suck.

 

My humorous, erotic, autobiographical novel “The Wingman Chronicles” is now available on Amazon. Check out description, customer reviews and a free sample right here.

My filthy novel “The Wingman Chronicles.”

Parade Day Creepin’

   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; my favorite holiday of creepin’ has always been Scranton’s Saint Patrick’s Parade Day .

   It’s a marathon day full of drunken girls that just don’t care. It falls the Saturday before Saint Patty’s Day (so the die hards could head to New York City), and with my birthday being March 10th it always falls on or around the date.

   My entourage and I have always enjoyed a wicked game I created. This will apply to the Parade Day, wherever you’re located, even if it isn’t to celebrate Irish pride. 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 the 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.

   Of course, for a certain goofy looking buddy with an altered ranking system, we would subtract three points from any girl he was able to initiate anything with.

   He was always good to have around though, because it wouldn’t even be a question of who was going to go for the ugly friend. He relished the opportunity.

   If you’re an ugly man with a complete lack of game, a Parade Day is your best chance for some pussy, or at least to slobber on a sweaty semi-acceptable drunken whore.

 

Game Day Strategy

 

  ­­- If you don’t live within walking distance of your parade, get yourself a hotel room in the vicinity. Girls are always looking to take a midday nap before heading back out for the evening, which presents an excellent opportunity for hooking up. Don’t be surprised if after they sleep it off they never talk to you again.

   – Keep groups small. If your game is proficient, break away from your larger group of friends and roll one-on-one. You end up wasting too much time trying to maneuver through a bar together. You wanna move like a gazelle not a Mack truck.   

   – Get the first makeout out of the way. It sparks momentum. I remember in the days of the bars opening at 7 a.m. on Scranton’s Parade Day (they don’t open till 9 now) I’d be enjoying my first public display of horniness between quarter after 7 and 7:30.

    – Compliment their ridiculous shirts that they spent a weekend making with the girls they’re trying to convince themselves are their real friends, and messing around is often inevitable. Remember these girls are extremely jealous of each other, so after you give one of the crew attention, if you give another a second look you might be able to be dirty with multiple girls in the same cunt clique… Maybe even cause a fight. Hmm… If kissing multiple broads in the same crew causes a fight it should lead to bonus points.

    – It’s a marathon, not a sprint. Always be more sober than the broad you’re trying to bang. You can’t operate at your maximum capacity if you’re slurring your words and grabbing at a girl’s breasts to hold you up. Save those ugly nights of blacking out and vomiting for lame times at a dive bar when you’re surrounded by dick.

Bitches and Their Bitches

Women treasure their dogs like a fat friend. Even if they slobber all over you or bite you, girls still expect you to be nice to them.

Even if they pee on you, or shit in your shoes. You have to woo a dog, if you’re going to woo its master. That goes for all pets.

I have always avoided the dwellings of broads with dogs, because I’m deathly afraid of them. And if the dog doesn’t pose a physical threat, then I just find them flat-out annoying. The jumping, the licking, the relieving themselves indoors – it’s unacceptable. Don’t they have any respect for themselves?

Despite my disdain for canines, if a bitches’ bitch doesn’t like you it could cockblock you quicker than a positive aids test. You must befriend the dog to bed the broad.

Pet the dog and the girl will pet you.  Let the dog jump on you and the girl will jump on you. Let the dog lick you and the girl will lick you. Give and take.

Lately I have a non-exclusive thing with a sultry vixen, I’ve been staying over quite a bit, and it’s been perfect except for the fact that she has three pugs.

They’re non-threatening, or I probably wouldn’t have set foot in the house, but they love to jump all over me, lay next to me, and beg me to pet them. How fucking rude!

If the dogs are crying too much outside the door while we’re fucking, she’ll bring them in and they’ll scurry about, yammering, as I’m mid-bang. Very annoying. I’m always afraid one of them is gonna jump up and bite my cock. It stifles my performance.

Then afterward she’ll bring the dogs into bed with us. They take up a lot of space, slobber all over me, and pee the bed.

When my girl jumped in the shower this weekend, I took a stand and showed the spoiled pugs my own version of obedience school. I taught the dogs respect for me, and for themselves.

   “I know you think I don’t like you guys,” I told the dogs, “Not true. I just don’t want you invading my personal space. At any point did I jump on you? At any point did I attempt to lick you? At any point did I get overly excited and pee on you, or shit on the floor? First off why would you shit on your own floor? If I shit on the floor, it’s cool. It’s not my house. I’m just gonna leave and joke about it with my friends. But you live here. Let’s work on some common sense. So from now on (and I showed them) let’s keep a five-yard halo between yourselves and me. You may not enter that. I have the same halo with children, who I’m also not particularly fond of, yet I’ve banged an exceptional amount of girls with kids and had a serious relationship with one MILF.”

Always remember, how the puppy perceives you will dictate if the pussy will see you.

 

If you like the way I handle the bitches read more of my adventures in my book The Wingman Chronicles.

My filthy novel The Wingman Chronicles available in EBook & paperback on Amazon.

The Wingman Chronicles on Amazon UK!

Santa Creeper

There’s nothing wrong with a little holiday creepin’.

The last two years of my teens I worked as Santa Claus over the holiday season and used my Kringle clout to work my way into the pants of many MILFS and non-MILFS alike.

Some were high class, some white trash, some single, and some were married or in serious relationships during my stints at Gerrity’s Supermarket in Clarks Summit, and the Wyoming Valley Mall in Wilkes-Barre in 2001 and 2002 respectively.

All, however, had the vulnerability of a crack addict. Thanks to the stress perennially associated with the holiday season, they needed somebody to comfort them. And who better than a Santa Claus, who could pass for a teen idol?

It didn’t matter that I hated children, wasn’t fat, and was at least forty years younger than most Santas. I was him.

On the first day I inhabited the role, I was insulted.

“You’re not real like the other Santas,” an elf told me.
“No… But I’m a close personal friend of the real Santa,” I replied.

Being Santa is a conversation starter with built in hype. I would convert the initiated contact into riffs on my latest acting role, while also demonstrating my love for the children. The little fuckers are excellent wingmen and wingwomen.

Once I established a rapport with the ladies in the suit, I would pay a visit in street clothes. Here’s an excerpt of holiday creepin’.

ME: “We know each other.”
GIRL: “We do?”

I looked around, leaned in, and whispered with the covert nature of a CIA spy.

ME: “I’m Santa.”
GIRL: “Oh my God… No….”

I smiled.

GIRL: “You are.”
ME: “Shh… You’re the only one who knows.”
GIRL: “Really? OK. I could keep a secret.”

I played off the mysterious celebrity that went with the coveted gig, while making them feel like they were special — which they weren’t.

Be forewarned: If you’re the actual fat, white bearded, drunken hobo with tar covering the few teeth you have left that typically finds work as a Santa, you might not have the same luck that I did. In fact, many would call you a dirty old man and try to steer clear of you, no offense.

Actually, I often joked with the girls I was working (some of which were elves) about the disgusting nature of most Santas, who looked as if they drove vans you wouldn’t want your children to go near.
My most memorable scenario was when I closed a classmate’s married whore of a mother in my truck in the Gerrity’s parking lot, while wearing the suit.

I always wanted this cougar and had heard rumors of her promiscuous nature, but I needed the Claus mystique to finish the job. She wore a Santa hat over her frosted blonde hair and had scandalous red lingerie covering her fake D-cups and voluptuous bottom.

“Leave the beard on,” the forty-something commanded.
ME: “OK.
XMAS HO: “Fuck me Santa! I love your sleigh.”
ME: “Ugh this is a Chevy S-10… Although it is red.”
XMAS HO: “Ohhhh Santa! I wish you were really fat.”
ME: “Yeah, yeah… Ohhh. I’ll work on that.”

The spectacle may have been traumatic for some children who walked by, but we relished the Christmas miracle.

 

If you enjoyed this read more of my uncouth adventures in my humorous, erotic, autobiographical novel “The Wingman Chronicles,” and come see me live when my comedy tour comes to your town!

My filthy novel The Wingman Chronicles available in EBook & paperback on Amazon.

How to get laid on Halloween

   If you want to pick up a hottie on Halloween, you must strip her of her pussy power, before you strip her of her slutty costume...

Guys talk for months with excitement and glee about how excited they are to see broads sporting their most whorish Halloween attire.

The dudes prepare for the holiday of creepin’ by investing in a cool costume they think will catch the girl’s attention. They get their haircuts, perform the perfect maneuvering of facial hair, trim their balls and have the perfect lineup of creepin’ venues to make their move at.

It’s Halloween, and it’s on!

And what do many of these guys do when they arrive at the club, bar or party?

Hang with their group of guy friends, ogling the girls, talking about how hot they are, how sexy they dance, and what they would do to them. And what do they actually do?

Then they go home depressed, barely having even spoken to a girl, and jerk themselves to sleep. It’s pathetic.

Why would a guy go to a place full of scantily clad hos, I mean upstanding young women getting into the festive spirit, and not approach them?

It sounds like a waste of a costume, cash, and if they were the driver, gas. It’s like going to an all-you-can-eat buffet while you’re on a hunger strike.

Guys get around these hotties and become quivering babies, and that is the least attractive thing in the world to a girl. Even if a broad thinks you’re an asshole and finds you annoying, she’ll always have more respect for the guy who takes a shot than the guy who stands in the corner all night with the dudes like he’s at a junior high dance.

Girls love a guy with balls. That’s kind of hard to find these days so if you could at the very least fake like you have some, a girl who’s drunk and impressionable could buy it, and you might be lucky enough to get her in the bedroom, backseat or bathroom stall. After all it is Halloween, let’s get in the spirit.

Don’t walk up to a girl and say I like your tits, or great ass. Not because it’s rude or sexual harassment. No, no, no, because it’s what she wants you to say. Even if she acts all put off after you do, she’s secretly smiling on the inside of her slutty attire.

“Eeww… You’re gross. You have no respect for women. I hope you die” really translates to “Damn right you like my tits. They’re fucking perfect. This costume’s working. These guys all want to fuck me like an animal.”

Any girl who disputes what I’m saying, obviously has problems with the truth. But don’t give her the upper hand. Don’t make her think she’s perfect. The reason girls wear those scandalous costumes is to further enhance their pussy power. Don’t pander to it. Many girls who are only hot in makeup, stilettos and club light, grow heirs and treat guys like shit, because of the assholes that constantly swoon over them.

Make her wonder about you. Don’t fix your eyes on her tits, ass, or belly ring… Look her in the eye.

The reason is it’ll make her nervous, and therefore set you apart from the rest of the lecherous scavengers that have been questing after her. Suddenly she’ll be wondering:

“Why isn’t he looking at my boobs, why isn’t he looking at my ass, I’m dressed like a whore can’t he see that? Oh god, I look like shit. Excuse me while I go throw up.”

You made her vulnerable, downgraded her power, and gave yourself the upper hand…. You broke down the hype of the hottie. Now it’s time to carry on with a real conversation and see where the night takes you. A true player always preys on a woman’s vulnerability.

Happy Halloween! Be safe tonight… These girls are dirty.

If you enjoy my blog check out a free sample from my book “The Wingman Chronicles” on Amazon & Amazon UK.

My filthy novel The Wingman Chronicles available in E-book & paperback on Amazon

The Wingman Chronicles on Amazon UK!