Trick or Treat… Where’s the fucking trick, kid?

What happened to the days when a kid would have to earn their keep?


A group of kids just came to my door, and said “Trick or Treat.”

Well let me ask you, “Where’s the fucking trick?”

They stood around dumbfounded, holding their bags and pumpkins out as if I was going to give them something. But what did they do to earn it? I don’t care if it’s Halloween. What am I getting out of this deal?

“Don’t say ‘Trick or Treat’ to me without providing some sort of routine,” I said. “That’s just false advertising.”

They didn’t sing, they didn’t dance, there was no prepared monologue. The majority of them didn’t even say “Trick or Treat,” just stood their asking for a handout like a hobo outside a liquor store. A few of the kids were even dressed like hobos. Way to set your goals high.

Well I wouldn’t enable them. I made them watch as I devoured the delectable fun size candy bars, then sent them on their way.

“Next time, have something prepared,” I said. “Tell your parents I said that. Except you Timmy. Your mom’s hot and has a questionable reputation. Take whatever candy you want and tell her where you got it and she should feel free to come over and thank me anytime.”

Walking up to a house, ringing the doorbell, and saying “Trick or Treat,” further plays into the false praise that is given to kids every days.

Everybody gets a trophy,  nobody keeps score, everybody wins – “Trick or Treat” is simply a holiday version of a prize you didn’t earn. Why do you think so many people in this world want to be rewarded for doing nothing, and therefore sit on their ass and abuse the system?

It begins with the children. When I was a kid my grandfather told me before I’d go trick or treating that I’d be required to do something to earn my candy. Tell a joke, sing a song, do a dance – something to earn it.

So instead of being just another beggar with nothing to offer, I’d be the mime getting quarters thrown at him for either displaying his talent, or simply to go away.

One year I went house to house breaking into a stunning rendition of Guns N’ Roses “Welcome to the Jungle,” another I quoted “I’m Larry, this is my brother Daryl, and this is my other brother Daryl,” from “Newhart.” Finally I tired of riding off the coattails of famous performers and prepared my own material. Some of the parents got a little offended by my more risqué comic routines, but that prepared me for the crowds I would later face as a nightclub comic often facing rowdy drunken hecklers in small town dive bars.

If your children are going to come to my house, tell them they better have some sort of routine prepared that sets them apart from the rest. Teach them something that will serve as their “trick,” and only then will they be given their “treat.”

And if your offspring are unprepared or lacking in talent, they’ll go home without candy. Winning and losing is a lesson that needs to be learned in life. Let them learn it now, otherwise they’ll turn into a whiny, cry baby, useless adult that nobody could stand.


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

The Wingman Chronicles on Amazon UK!

Charlie Sheen Talks to Kindergarten Class Teaser

By James Holeva

CHARLIE: PART 2 (Sequel to Charlie Sheen: Motivational Speaker)

I don’t know if you noticed but Charlie Sheen has been in the media a lot lately. Being that I have yet to see a comedian, talk show host, columnist, blogger,  or even a person talking with their friends provide commentary on Charlie, I felt it was my duty to be the one to break the ice.

I did so with a blog entry I posted on Saturday entitled: “Charlie Sheen: Motivational Speaker.”

I mentioned that due to the man’s intense initiative, if the acting doesn’t work out Charlie should speak to school children, in an effort to motivate them to be a bit more “winning.” A lot of people shared with me how boring they remember their school assemblies being, but if the man with tiger blood and Adonis DNA walked in they most certainly would have perked up, listened and adhered to his advice. After all, he is a Warlock.

Here is an excerpt of a motivational speech Charlie Sheen would provide to a kindergarten class.

CHARLIE: “Children a lot of you are obviously trolls and clowns, but I’m here to expose you to magic and provide you with a performance enhancing drug called Charlie Sheen. While I have tiger blood and Adonis DNA, you have rabbit blood and Snooki DNA.

I fucked Snooki by the way. She didn’t want any money, but I felt better paying.

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’.

Halloween Whoring

Halloween: A time for whoring


Halloween is a night when even the most conservative broads go out with plans to live out their prostitution fantasies.

How many innocent girls do you know – teachers, pharmacists, librarians – who transform themselves into lingerie clad playmates? Witches, devils, cops – the costume doesn’t matter, in their heads they’re a whore for Halloween. Even (supposedly) upstanding young women see it as a time of year where bad decisions are almost acceptable, in fact, expected. I brought on a Wingwoman this week, to provide us a female perspective on this creepin’ holiday.

“Halloween has turned into an excuse for girls to dress and act like trash and get away with it,” said 24-year-old Scranton resident Mary Steppacher. “Not that I’m completely against it, or a hypocrite. If you got it flaunt it, but if not please for the love of God be a ghost, throw on a sheet and get shitty!”


   Pick a costume that will start a convo.

The first step toward getting laid is always initiating contact, so the role you’re playing should make the ladies inquire about your costume, compliment you and want to get a picture. I’ll be alternating ensembles throughout the night so I could have public displays of horniness with multiple girls in the same club.

“Girls like funny costumes definitely, but not cheesy,” Mary said. “Costumes that bring attention, but not in a bad way.”


   Treat her like a coworker, not a stripper.

   As scantily clad vixens gyrate as if they’re working for tips, they obviously want you to eye their breasts, asses and legs. Don’t do it. It gives them control. Make solid eye contact as they stand before you in their stripper-wear, scouring the room for a greased up pole. You want to talk the same way you would if they were standing on the street sporting jeans, or a business suit.

“Look her in the eye, have a normal conversation and then subtly compliment her saying something like, ‘I like your costume, you play the part well, but with class,’” Mary said. “Even if she really doesn’t, it’s a sure way to get her in the sack.”


   Make fun of others as a means of creepin’.

When nasty ass behemoths roam the range, busting open the strained seams of their safety-pin-fastened costumes, it could make for fantastic flirting fodder. I’ve often bonded with babes as we laughed at the sloppy spectacles in the room. It was like therapy. There’ve even been situations where a floozy in the most whorish attire and I connected as we spoke of how slutty someone else in the room was dressed.

“Make sure they don’t know each other first,” Mary warned. “You have to get a read on the girl. If she throws a dirty look, or initiates the name calling definitely (go for it).”


  Don’t ignore the girls who are dressed only moderately scandalous, or even conservative.

These high-class hos are often the most naturally beautiful women in the room so they refuse to tarnish their reputation by competing against a gaggle of common trollops.

   Look for “The Wingman Chronicles” hitting book stores in next year!