CREEPIN’ AT THE HOSPITAL

Sadly, no matter how good your coverage, under the current administration insurance companies refuse to offer sex workers as part of your health care package.
I don’t believe it myself, but despite my charming bravado I lack the political clout to make a difference. So it’s up to you.
If you’re laid up in a hospital, and you want the best treatment, it’s your responsibility to fight for it.
There’s nothing that will cure a man’s illness, or injury, and the mental anguish that accompanies, more than an ejaculation induced by someone other than himself. Personally, I think that should be in a nurse’s job description. They’re emptying your bed pan, why can’t they blow you, or at least administer a hand job?

She could wear a rubber glove if it’ll make her feel better.
I mean these nurses say they want to make a difference, here’s their chance. Even a good old fashioned wet dry hump will aid in your recovery.
Anyway, until nurse/whore becomes a combination occupation, the creeping is up to you and me.
Don’t be depressed. You’re in a perfect situation. Candy stripers, nurses, female doctors — anytime you’re in a spot where a girl is forced to talk to you and be nice to you, you’re in an excellent creepin’ position…
Especially when she has to be in a room alone with you. And you’re already wearing a backless gown and going commando… The progression to relations is perfectly natural. Granted the hospital personnel probably aren’t drunk while they’re working, but I think you could play the sympathy card for an easy piece of ass.
If it’s a girl with a heart (yes, some of them have one) you could coax her with your own sadness and get some pussy outta pity. Good times. Maybe one of the girls tending to you has a chemical dependency, and you could give her some of your morphine drip.
Hey, if you were in a bar wouldn’t you buy a girl a drink? It’s the same thing — hospital creepin’ currency.
Maybe you could even fake an injury, and make your move in the sponge bath. That brings back memories. No, it’s cool. I like going to the hospital. My Dad sells accident insurance so I make out pretty good.
You need to pinpoint which of the girls you’re coming in contact with are the most empathetic, because your game won’t work on a cold, hard bitch. If it’s a miserable ice queen, you could often bond with her by making fun of pathetic patients or hospital workers. She’ll like that.
You have to read the situation before you call the play, but I’ve bonded with many broads, in all venues, by creating laughs at the expense of others.
It can be a very effective technique. Girls who enjoy making themselves feel better by cutting others down behind their back is something that begins in the crib, but never ends.
So, if you’re creeping impaired and have good insurance, just fake your way into a hospital. Getting girls to talk to you won’t be hard because they don’t have a choice. Like I said, my father sells accident insurance. Hit me up, and I’ll hook you up. You won’t find many authors who look out for their readers like I do.

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THE MENTAL ORGASM

We laid together in our underwear, our crotches resting against each other, as we lightly kissed and enjoyed the moment.

“Oh, oh, oh… I just came!” she exclaimed.

“Really?” I asked. “I barely touched you.”

“Yep… I’ve gotta clean up,” she proclaimed as she broke for the bathroom.

“Seriously, I barely touched you. How did that happen?” I reiterated.

“I guess you have a gift,” she said.

This made me wonder how I’d made this girl cum when I barely even gyrated against her. You hear about guys who pop double doses of Viagra and Cialis and still fail at getting a woman off, and I had barely touched this broad.

To say I felt accomplished would be an understatement. It was at that moment I realized that although I lacked vocal and instrumental talents, I was a rock star. As I thought more about it, I figured out a woman’s orgasm isn’t physical, it’s mental.

The girl had been so lost in that connection, the romance of the moment, what I was saying and how I was saying it that her sex juices couldn’t help but come pouring out as if somebody pulled the fire alarm and a multitude of sprinklers erupted.

She wanted to have sex, and we had had sex, but she wanted to wait a few days to do it again to concentrate on us really getting to know each other. I can’t say I was thrilled by these revelations, but I really liked this girl. Apparently, she really liked me too. The pussy doesn’t lie.

Girls are always complaining about sex: “He doesn’t get me off, he doesn’t care about my needs, I don’t like the way he prods my body.”

And the problem is that guys–both geniuses and Neanderthals–many of them don’t realize that a woman’s orgasm isn’t physical.

Foreplay doesn’t begin in the bedroom, backseat, or bathroom stall, It doesn’t start during your classy dinner at McDonald’s, Wendy’s, or Taco Bell. It ignites with the flirty banter when you’re texting, emailing, and talking on the phone.

When you’ve got this aura about you that the broad’s digging, then you tell her she’s beautiful and sexy, smart and cool, kind and sweet – you lie from the heart.

(Maybe you even find a girl where those things are true. That’s even more fun.)

If you’ve said the right things and made a connection in a text message, then did the same thing while you’re looking into her eyes… she’s ready to ruin her panties and make a stain on the floor. Let’s hope a custodian’s on duty.

These days I meet a lot of broads on the world wide creep engine–I mean Facebook… And if that’s the case I strive to have a girl get off to me a minimum of five times before we’ve even met.

However, I’m pretty hot and good with words so that kind of puts me at an advantage. Also, my sexy photos are real, If that’s not the case with you, she may be disappointed when you guys finally meet up in person. No offense.

Parking the car

When a girl’s gonna let you park the car in the garage whether you’re driving an Escalade or a Ford Pinto, you wanna be intense, passionate, and aggressive… But you don’t wanna rush things.

It’s like when a guy watches porno he just wants to see hardcore penetration… But a girl likes old school porn with a story. She wants you to be the pizza boy that sweeps her off her feet and peers into her soul… Then fucks her doggy style.

Creating a mood is very important to a lady.

I’ll liken it to masturbation. Guys when we jack off, we’ll rub it out – bing, bang, boom – towel off, pull up are pants, we’re ready to make business transactions.

But girls, they go all out… They dim the lights, draw a bath, have black market apparatus flown in from third world countries.

Women respect the ambiance, and you must too if you’re gonna please them.

Guys think about your wives, girlfriends, exes… Okay, I bet they spend more time in the bathroom getting ready to go to bed than you’d spend putting yourself together for a night on the town.

No they weren’t doing bodily things. Well, maybe they were. I don’t know what they had for dinner.

But what they were really doing is their pre-sleep preparation… Like guys, I know myself, I fall asleep anywhere… In my clothes, my contacts, my jacket… I just pass out. But a woman is primped for a ball before she climbs into bed.

It’s different if they’re a drunk or a drug addict, but we’re not all lucky enough to date Hollywood socialites.

So when a broad’s opening her legs, she wants you to take your time and enjoy the adventure… Not just jerk off inside her like her vagina’s a hole in the couch.

Whether it’s true or false, a girl just wants you to make her feel pretty, make her think she counts, and make know you care. Whether it’s a bathroom stall bang and bye, or a long term prison sentence, you connect with her mind, and you will ignite her vagina.

Obviously there are exceptions.

“I can’t cum”

Certain girls you’ll find will insist they can’t have an orgasm.

“I don’t like foreplay, I’ve never given a blowjob, I don’t like having lots of sex, I don’t like oral, don’t touch my boobs, my vagina doesn’t cum.”

If she says that, you know what that means? And this is based on highly researched and analyzed scientific data.

She’s a cunt.

She “can’t” have an orgasm because she believes she “can’t” have an orgasm. She’s a pessimistic bitch who can’t allow herself to enjoy what is there for her to enjoy; or she’s a control freak who won’t sacrifice any of her power for a few minutes of pleasure.

If that’s your girl, end it now. You deserve better. You deserve a dirty whore who likes to fuck and cums like a desperate house wife taking advantage of her teenage daughter’s boyfriend. (I know from my own teen years.)

Anyway, miss desert crotch is never going to be happy, and if you waste time caring about the drought, the lack of hydration’s just gonna ruin your summer.

If you think “I can’t cum,” you won’t cum. I believe in the sexual secret.

Women like that shouldn’t even be allowed out in public. Negativity breeds negativity. Before you know it all the fuck-ready sluts at the bar will suddenly put their vagina under lock and key.

And that would be catastrophic in this disgusting economy, where we need sex more than ever.

Ladies if you really want to help the economy, now’s the time to take off those clothes, open those legs, and whore it the fuck up.

 

If you enjoyed this piece you could read about me giving girls dirty mental orgasms in my filthy novel “The Wingman Chronicles” available on Amazon. Read a free sample, customer reviews and purchase right here.

My filthy novel The Wingman Chronicles

If you’re in the UK it’s available right here.

The Wingman Chronicles on Amazon UK!

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.

Cheating with a Cheating Bitch

Chrystal Rose, author of “Unfaithfully Yours,

Confessions of a Cheating Bitch”

Has anyone out there ever cheated, wanted to cheat, tried to convince themselves that what they did wasn’t cheating?

Chrystal Rose has cheated, and admits every detail about it in her newly released memoir “Unfaithfully Yours, Confessions of a Cheating Bitch,” which was released appropriately on Valentine’s Day – a day of lot of cheaters try to ease their guilt with a romantic outing with the, ahem “love of their life.”

It’s sexy, it’s raw but told in a humorous and conversational manner. Rose, aka, “The Cheating Bitch,” will be making her first foray into standup comedy with an appearance on my show in Boston, Mass. Saturday night at The Greatest Bar. Showtime is 8, and she’ll be selling and signing copies of her book after the show.

Rose offers her insight, and breaks down all things cheating in this Q & A.

What made you want to cheat?

I never really wanted to cheat, I was just young and selfish as hell! I wanted the security of the guy who’d always be there and the excitement of someone new…Basically I wanted to have my cake, eat it and lick the frosting off my fingers.

 

While you were having sex with your boyfriend did you ever yell out one of your other men’s names? What about while you were having an affair? Did you ever yell out your boyfriend’s name?

No, because I usually tried to avoid calling out names in general. Unless of course your name is “Oh my God” or “Oh fuckkk!”

You have a background as an author, blogger, and improviser, how do you feel about making your standup comedy debut in Boston? What should we expect from the Cheating Bitch?

I’m fucking petrified but excited at the same time. I’d always wanted to do standup but I never really had the time. I’m sure I’ll be nervous as hell– I always am no matter what sort of performing I’m doing. You can expect to laugh at me (maybe not my jokes), some sexiness, some filthiness and maybe even some same-sex kissing. Who knows, with the Wingman in tow– anything can happen.

What advice would you have for the young ladies out there who are interested in cheating?

Haha, I love this… Seriously I don’t condone cheating! Not only is it dishonest and selfish but it totally hinders you from being who you really are. If you don’t want to get caught– don’t cheat. But if you must– don’t be sloppy! People get caught because they leave their emails up or their sig other goes through their phone–

1. Don’t leave that shit around.

2. What are you sentimental or something?? DELETE, DELETE, DELETE. Also make sure your “Mister” knows the fucking rules. I outline those on page 147…

3. Don’t be obvious. Seriously. If you get a sketchy text or random call– don’t dive across the room to your phone. You look fucking shady.

4. Make sure your Mister/Mistress knows the damn rules– i.e. when they are and aren’t allowed to call/text if at all. This saves you from having to be on 24/7 phone watch.

5. At the very least get a bat phone but either way don’t leave that shit around and what are you sentimental or something?? DELETE, DELETE, DELETE. Don’t save anything incriminating.

6. When it comes to your alibi– Don’t just go around making shit up. If you went to a movie on the other side of town you better know what the fuck that movie was about, who was in it, what the traffic was like on the way to the theater, whether there was construction blocking the side entrance, to the nerdy teen behind the concession stand. The key here is to keep your lies as close to the truth as possible. That means if you say you’re going to the movie– go to the fucking movie. If you’re going to a certain bar– go to the fucking bar. The only lie should be about WHO you are with as opposed to what you did.

7. Don’t change. Anything. Your routine, your sex life with your sig other– not even your fucking grooming tactics. If you’re a man you’re pretty fucked because women can smell the slightest change in your demeanor. We know your habits better than you do and it’s only a matter of time before you’re fighting every second of the day–whether she thinks you’re cheating or not.

8. Keep your head in the game. Cheaters tend to project their behavior onto their sig other. Don’t accuse him/her of cheating or anything that you yourself are doing. Also, your mind will fuck with you because unless you’re a sociopath you’re going to feel somewhat guilty. Resist the urge to change your demeanor for the positive. For example if you don’t spend the night at home, you feel guilty and then come home with roses. Don’t. Fucking. Do. That.

9. Be honest with your Mister/Mistress. You’re already lying to one person– this is the person you shouldn’t have to lie to because from the get go you have nothing to lose with them. You’re going to really fuck yourself over if you try to keep track of two sets of lies.

10. Determine what you are looking to get out of cheating– Sex? Intimacy? Someone to listen to you? Whatever it is make sure that’s all you’re getting. It’s easy to get caught up in one person because they are giving you what you need, but if you aren’t going to leave the person you’re with for them– then you are going to develop an attachment on one side or the other. And that will fuck you over.

11. Personally, I think it’s better to either make it work with the one you’re with or cut it off completely if it won’t work.

What would you say it takes to really constitute cheating? E.G. Talking, cyber/sexting, making out, hooking up, going all the way.

I think cheating is straying outside the parameters of your relationship. If your sig other is okay with you making out with strangers when you are drunk then it’s not cheating. If you have a secret online relationship with someone and your partner doesn’t know about it, then that can be considered cheating. Cheating isn’t an act–it’s a betrayal. Betraying your partner constitutes cheating.

Looking back, how do you feel now about the cheating you did in your book?

I look back and see a girl who was really struggling with who she was and who she wanted to be. I wasn’t enough for myself, I didn’t feel like I was enough for my family and I wanted to be everything to everyone. I wanted to prove that I was lovable and that I could have whoever I wanted. Making men fall for me filled all the emptiness I’d had inside since I was a little girl.

Regardless of whether cheating is right or wrong it was something I needed to do and it shaped who I am today. I’m better for it and I can’t sit here and regret every horrible thing I’ve done– no one should. You can fuck up and then decide that for whatever reason you’re done. You can change yourself, your pattern, your life– whatever. You don’t have to live that way.

Have you ever been cheated on?

Yes in like middle school but it was stupid. As far as I know I haven’t been really cheated on in a grown up relationship. Though I was pretty certain an ex of mine was I just never found anything. So technically no… But let’s be serious here– who the FUCK would cheat on me??

Get your TICKETS right here to see Chrystal Rose make her standup comedy debut in Boston on my show Saturday at The Greatest Bar at 8 p.m. You could purchase a signed copy of her book after the show. Also performing are Boston area comics Theresa Condito, and Brian Pellicano.

Purchase Tickets.

Chrystal Rose’s book is available right here through Amazon.com.

“Unfaithfully Yours Confessions of a Cheating Bitch”

You could also check out sample chapters on Chrystal’s Blog.

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.

Republicans are victims of poor marketing

By James Holeva

Conservative/Liberal… What sounds more exciting?

About a year ago a broad I knew told me that she was a Republican. I said, “Okay. So as for your beliefs are you completely Republican, completely Democrat, or kind of split down the middle?”

“I’m pretty conservative,” she said.

“Really?” I said. “Well you could have fooled me. I mean, when you blew me under the table at that Japanese restaurant, I thought you were pretty fucking liberal.

“Wait… Is that the reason you wouldn’t have a threesome with me?”

She was kind enough to enlighten me that the words liberal and conservative, in political terms, have nothing to do with what turns you on sexually. You could be into sticking rodents and reptiles up your ass, and it would have nothing to do with your political affiliation.

Based on Democratic Presidents John F. Kennedy and Bill Clinton’s prior sexual exploits, I thought if you were liberal politically it meant you were down for an uncouth adventure.

Whether you’re a Democrat or Republican, there is one certainty. The Republicans are victims of poor marketing.

Democrats are liberal, and Republicans are conservative.

But it has nothing to do with fucking. It’s merely about your thoughts on spending, taxes, health care, social security, foreign policy, immigration – issues that have no bearing on my life.

And I never would have known that if it wasn’t for this girl who liked to bang in public places, and voted for John McCain.

The word conservative is the worst marketing term I could think of. It sounds like a commercial for Catholic Television, or the 700 Club.

Think about it… When you meet a girl do you want to hear:

“Oh, she’s perfect for you. Real conservative. Turtleneck sweaters, long pants, granny panties… You put your hand on her knee and she’ll run away.”

Or, do you want a girl who’s liberal?

“This broad is liberal as fuck. She’s down for anything. Anal, orgies, you could stick it in her ear if you want. Just use lube. I learned the hard way.”

You’re trying to recruit boys in high school for your political party. What sounds better to them? They don’t know the issues. They’ll go with whatever makes it sound like the girls will put out more.

Liberal and conservative sound like one party has booze and whores, while the other just, isn’t a party at all. Call me old fashioned but when it comes to choosing which party to attend, I wanna be at the one where the broads are better in bed.

 

If you enjoy this check out my humorous, erotic, autobiographical “The Wingman Chronicles” in E-book & paperback format on Amazon and Amazon UK.

The Wingman Chronicles available on Amazon. Download, tell your friends, and leave a review!

The Wingman Chronicles on Amazon UK!