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!


By James Holeva

I try to turn every haircut I get into a one-night stand. It’s my way of tipping the girl. Often times, if you go to a girl who has her own one-woman shop, on a day that isn’t too busy, you could get a post haircut present.

If you’re in need of a sure thing – you’re having trouble getting a girl to go out with you, just getting back out there after a breakup, the very sight of you repulses women, whatever – get a haircut.

It’s the perfect creeping opportunity – a built in date. No matter how much of a loser you are they have no choice but to talk to you. They can’t blow you off, ignore you, or ask a cockblock of a friend to get rid of you.

You might be one ugly, scary, gargoyle looking motherfucker, which means in the bar, in the street, at the mall… you approach a girl and they’ll run the other way into the arms of a bouncer, police officer, or rent-a-cop, but that’s only because leaving is an option.

Why do you think most guys who kidnap women are creepy looking?

A haircut is your way to abduct a woman the legal and safe way. Which reminds me, always have condoms concealed on your person when you’re getting your beauty treatments.

If you’re a good looking cat with game, this should be easy. If you’re recently out of relationship prison with a woman — whether a minimum, medium, or maximum security facility — it’ll give you a chance to talk to a girl again, where she doesn’t have the opportunity to get away. Imagine like she’s tied up, but you aren’t committing a felony. Pretty cool, huh…

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


Friday, June 17th 2011



Is it at all appropriate for a wingman to be present during sex, cheering and criticizing?

Yes definitely… I commit to my clients. It’s like Mick and Rocky. Read my train story for a true depiction of team work.



What do you do when she farts mid anal sex?

Keep going but hold your breath… A true player commits.


Kel (was nice enough to leave her phone number)

How big is your penis? And girth?

8.5 inches… Like I said in the show, “Huge but manageably huge… As big as you want that you could work with.”

While I never measured girth… I’ve gotten compliments on it as much, if not more than the length. Send a pic and if you keep coming to shows, I might let you see for yourself.



What do you do when he asks you to fuck your elbow?

Let him do it. He’s a guy who likes to use all of the performance space. He’s not a coffee house singer/songwriter who stands in one spot, he’s a fucking rockstar. Enjoy the show.


AJ aka Melon Man

When you are Eiffel towering a girl, do you look the other guy straight in the eye the whole time?

Well Melon Man, if you’re good friends with him. There’s no better moment two long time compadres could experience than enjoying a girl like she’s an amusement park.

Just joking… Enjoy the uncouth adventure but stay away from anything remotely guy-on-guy. See my “Rules of The Train” blog.



Why does my boyfriend always want to put it in my ass when I have such a brilliant vagina?

We all like to go where we’ve never been. It’s like a lot of people from America want to go to Italy or Paris… But to the people who live there, it’s not a thrill. Once he’s gotten the ass, he’ll be going for the ear.


If you’re trying to send a dirty picture to your boyfriend and accidentally sent it to his dad, and he sends one back, do you keep going???

Judging by the three question marks you enjoyed the picture. If you’re into him, enjoy the picture and keep going. It could be meant to be. And there’s no better way for a father and son to bond than to share a broad. If you could help enable that, do it.



Will you take my friend Audrey’s virginity?

Have her come out to a show and introduce herself. I’ll give a yay or nay when I see her. If I give a nay, get me around last call or accost me in the bathroom. Resilience is a quality I admire in a creeper.



Is it natural for girl’s to squirt? And is it dangerous to your dick?

Some girls are squirters… Especially if you provide a solid mental orgasm. No it isn’t dangerous to your dick. Her pussy will tense up like a vice grip as she’s clawing your back but the cock is strong… I can’t speak for the scratches or bite marks that will end up on other parts of your body. It depends if the girl’s a cat…



That was the most horrible lap dance I ever had. Mine are so much better!!

Bullshit… I remember that lap dance and I was good. It was like poetic gyration. And thanks for the Lap Dance that encored the show. You tore it up to “Pornstar Dancing.” You have a real future ahead of you. Let me know what club you’re working at, and I’ll stop by. I will expect a free VIP complete with complimentary extras.

Chaoticness: Part 1

The Look

By James Holeva

(An excerpt from a book, and screenplay I’m working on)


   It began with a look across the patio that made us both excited, and uneasy.

   Both of us were players. Maria was a powerful 37-year-old divorced business woman who wouldn’t dare get attached to a guy. She was a big fan of spontaneous sexual encounters with younger men, and the way her married friends would live vicariously through her. But she had one rule: no sleepovers.

   Meanwhile, I’d always been a player and had just that week finally finished a relationship with a most unbalanced bipolar broad who’d just turned 18. The last thing I was looking for was a relationship.

    Obviously Maria and I were meant for each other. Provided the accommodations included spontaneous sex and no sleepover, we were each other’s fantasy.

   But the second I saw her I could tell she was different. I know I was thinking of a princess when I should be imagining a prostitute, but she was a glamorous, sassy, woman of class. Damn she was a hot piece of ass.

   It was State Street Grill in my hometown of Clarks Summit, Pennsylvania and the broad in the pink dress and I exchanged a look in the outdoor section as she sauntered across the patio. As I sat with my friends Mike and his brother Steve, and Steve’s buddy Jeff, I thought we might have caught each other’s eye. But I actually felt a bit nervous, which is not a sensation I usually feel when it comes to creepin’.

    She was a tiny dark haired Italian broad with no shortage of sex appeal. Classy and well put together, with breasts like boxing gloves. She was the girl I always dreamed about growing up — the glamorous woman full of sex appeal that was older, and unattainable.

   When I was in my teens in my suburban town, scheming after my first lay, girls like her were pushing thirty, driving around in their husband’s Benz, with fake tits and jewelry on display. That’s the girl I was fantasizing about banging while I was fucking around with teeny boppers who hadn’t had their cherries popped.

   She wasn’t your everyday crack whore, mind you; she looked like a high class ho with an exclusive clientele. I was sure she was with someone, but I remained optimistic. I couldn’t remember when a single look had had such an effect on me.

   I played it cool, hanging out at the outside table before making my way inside about fifteen minutes later only to find my friend’s younger brother’s overbearing, coked out, drunken buddy Jeff barricading her at the bar. Fuck. I had to find a way to get rid of him.

   No, I wasn’t considering whacking him. There were too many people around at the time, and besides, I had left my gat at home. I’m only being facetious, relax. I creep with my well-honed skills, not fire arms. Still I was praying for Jeff to get distracted and move away (like that would happen), or the more likely choice for her to head for the bathroom and then I could casually stalk my way over and go to work.

   Damn, how I hoped she’d have to pee.

   I experienced fantasies of cornering her, saying hello, and immediately kissing her with the event culminating by fucking her in the bathroom. Men’s or ladies’ room, I didn’t have a preference, although the ladies crapper would have been the smarter play in case Jeff had to piss or do a bump and caught us mid-bang.

   He was obnoxious to begin with, and now fucked up, and would likely throw a tantrum. I wanted our first time to be special and sweet, as I held her against the wall in a tight bathroom stall.

   So I bided my time, hoping for an opening, envisioning her approaching me and making the introduction. I have always used the power of positive thinking. I utilized the principals of “The Secret” long before it came into the main stream.

   I’ve always been a romantic dreamer and an idealist, and I live and die by those principals.

   So I stood by waiting, sipping my Coors Light and appearing like I was having fun. But my mind was on her. I’m usually the best dressed guy in a place, an aficionado of blazers and button downs with my hair in perfect position, but on this occasion we’d come from a barbecue at my friend’s house and I was sporting jeans, a t-shirt, a pair of Nikes and a Phillies hat.

   I was scumming it up, like a celebrity walking Rodeo Drive and hiding from the Paparazzi. I think positive, but why would she notice the dressed down and sweaty version of me?

   “Have you met Maria?” a blonde asked me.

   ME: “Ugh”…

   (Oh my god could the girl in pink be Maria?)

   ME: “No. I haven’t.”

   “Well let me introduce you.”

   The blonde grasped my hand and pulled me toward the girl in the pink dress, aka Maria.

   ME: “Hi I’m James.”

   MARIA: “Maria.”

   ME: “Nice to meet you.”

   We shook hands.

   MARIA: “So how do you know all these girls?”

   ME: “I don’t.”

   The blonde was a friend of my best friend’s aunt as well as Maria, and I’d met the blonde a bit earlier in the night because Steve was creepin’ on another friend of their’s. That’s why we went there to begin with, and why I wasn’t equipped with the proper wardrobe.

   This was actually Maria’s high school reunion. Same high school as me, but she graduated twelve years earlier. Yes it was her twenty-year, but she looked to be in her mid-twenties.

    MARIA: “I see. So are you from Clarks Summit?”

    ME: “Yes… But my business takes me out of town a lot. Where are you from?”

   MARIA: “Clarks Summit. But I came in for my reunion. live in San Diego now.”

   ME: “Cool. How do you like it? 

   MARIA: “Oh, I love it. So, what do you do?”

   ME: “Well I recently did a TV pilot that I wrote, starred in and produced, it’s called “The Wingman,” and we’re pitching networks.”

   MARIA: “How dare you not offer me a part in your show?”

   ME: “Well I was going to, but you didn’t give me a chance.”

   MARIA: “What part is it… Besides the part where it’s a dirty sex scene with you?”

   ME: “I actually wasn’t thinking of a dirty sex scene with me.”

   MARIA: “Ugh, you weren’t?”

   ME: “Well I was, but it’s not something you say.”

   MARIA: “You could say it.”

   ME: “Well that sounds like a great scene. Maybe you could be the sexy boutique owner at the store the character of my sister works with, and I’m into you but my sister can’t stand it because you’re her boss. And we have our sex scene in the dressing room at the boutique.”

   MARIA: “I like it.”

    Jeff interrupted: “Stop talking Holeva.”

    ME: “Oh we’re just making conversation.”

     Maria was distracted by other friends so I don’t think she noticed Jeff’s comment.

   JEFF: “What are you doing Holeva? Stop cockblocking!”

   ME: “I didn’t do anything. Her friend introduced me.”

   JEFF: “Whatever… I paved the way. Don’t ruin it.”

   ME: “I did nothing.”

   Jeff grabbed her and continued to barricade and a few minutes later I noticed Maria and a friend of her’s appeared to be talking across the bar, while Jeff continued his game. 

   “Look at him over there. I need an opening,” I told Mike.

   MIKE: “Just go over.”

   ME: “Can’t… He’ll say something and it won’t look good.”

   MIKE: “Who cares?”

   ME: “I don’t care about him, I care about looking… not smooth. I got an idea.”

   I walked over to the blonde, who’d introduced us.

   I wanted to make a move but I knew Jeff and his obnoxious nature would cause it to look less than cool, and cool wasn’t something I was willing to sacrifice while working a girl of this level.  

   ME: “Hey… Thanks for introducing me to Maria. She’s really cool.”

   BLONDE: “Well I did that because she asked me too.”

   ME: “Oh cool. Hopefully we’ll get to hangout before she heads back to Cali.”

   BLONDE: “She’s beautiful, and smart and has such a great heart.”

   ME: “That’s nice, and so hard to find.”

   BLONDE: “It is.”

   I casually sidled back toward my friends, then walked over to the other side of the bar. I grabbed a napkin.

   “Hey could I borrow a pen?” I asked the bartender.

   BARTENDER: “Sure.

   I wrote my number down on the napkin. I would have given her a Wingman Certified Creeping Specialist business card, but Jeff might have seen it, and how he might react could sacrifice cool.

   I walked back over to the blonde.

   ME: “Hey it looks like Maria’s busy and she knows a lot of people, I don’t want to bother her, but could you give her this… It’s my number. And tell her to call me if she wants to get together before she goes home.”

   BLONDE: “I would love to.”

   ME: “Thanks.”

   A few minutes later, from my home base with my friends, I sipped my drink and watched as the Blonde casually approached Maria, interrupting her conversation with Jeff. She handed her the napkin.

   JEFF: “So how about you give me your number, and we could chill?”

   MARIA: “Well I have yours.”

   JEFF: “No you don’t.”

   Maria looked at the napkin, and burst out laughing. An instant look of embarrassment encompassed Jeff’s face, humbling his usual cocky frat boy demeanor.

   I hadn’t witnessed the exact events, and was just hoping that Maria would call me before she headed back to California. I meet girls all the time but on a first encounter never really care what happens, but there was something about this girl. I knew it right away.

   As last call loomed Jeff, our drunken designated driver, waited outside behind the wheel or another friend’s pickup, screaming for us to get moving as Mike and I approached the vehicle.

   JEFF: “Hurry up.”

   I spoke to Mike.

   ME: “Let’s go back inside and find Maria.”

   MIKE: “Okay.”

   We turned around to make our way back inside. I had the number but she lived 3,000 miles away and who knew her situation. When there’s an opening you have to strike. But she, too, was on her way out. She crossed paths with us.

   ME: “Nice meeting you.”

   She hugged me.

   MARIA: “You too… I got your number, so I’ll call you and see if I could fit you in.”

   ME: “I’m up for being fit in.”


   No I wasn’t grabbing her fantastic tatas… Jeff was laying on the horn.

   “COME ON!” he yelled.

   Some motherfuckers just can’t be smooth.

   As Jeff drove the pickup truck, I sat in the tight back seat next to Mike. My phone vibrated and it was a text message from a 858 area code… “Hey!”

   “Hey who’s this?” I replied.

   “Maria!” she wrote.

   I tapped Mike and showed him. He grinned. He was probably hoping she’d invite me over for a late night bang and blow and he could have sloppy seconds, or we could run a train. She was a feisty little thing, but there were enough of her tits to go around.

   “What are you up to?” I replied.

   She didn’t write back. We arrived back at Mike’s house, sat around the living room, and still no text back. It was time to make a power move. I walked out to the garage and called Maria. Voicemail. What a cute and enthusiastic voice.

   I walked back into the house and found Jeff sitting at the computer, checking Facebook, and leaving a voicemail.

   “Hey Maria, it’s Jeff. We should chill while you’re in town… Maybe even tonight. You could call me, or you could not call me. If you don’t call… You’re really gonna regret it so I’m sure I’ll hear from you soon.”

   I sat back down on the couch, as Jeff hung up his phone.

   JEFF: “What about that girl Maria? Like dude she’s 37… What the fuck would I want with an old lady like that? Like really… What was she thinking?”

   She called me back. It’s on. She’s staying at a friend’s house close by so I’ll be inside her within the half hour. No, it’s not about that. But this sultry vixen is away from home, and what better time to make bad decisions? It’s not like we’re going to run into each other at the grocery store. And I’m doubting she wants to get into a relationship with a guy 3,000 miles away.

   We had to make the most of our time together. 

   We talked for an hour, bonding and laughing… I charmed her, we connected, and I could hear her tan skin blushing through the phone. After we hung up, I just laid down and thought about Maria until I fell asleep. I remember many instances of thinking endlessly about girls like her as a child, but I was never this close to fucking one of them. As excited as I was, I wasn’t even disappointed that she didn’t ask me to come over for a spontaneous adventure that wouldn’t warrant a sleepover. In fact, if I did, I knew I’d want to sleepover.

   There must have been something special about that look.