The Psychology Of A Player

As I enter the club, I have only one objective. To hunt.

My reason for going shopping, finding nice clothes, wearing nice clothes, taking a cab and paying to enter this crowded room with loud music is not to stand at the bar communicating with males with a drink in my hand. No. What losers. Their mere presence is an insult to me, to know that I have to pay the same amount to be in the same vicinity as these mindless sheep who think that their night consisting of waddle dancing within a circle of men with their best shirts on is their concept of “fun.”

No. I am a wolf, and I’m here for my meal.

And for you men who have come out to look after and keep an eye out for your group of “best female friend circle”, don’t test me. You vermin are the people who disturb my sleep at night. Not because I worry that you may slightly delay my inevitable entrance into the insides of your female friends, but because you are lying to the world: You are not really a man. Your female friends severed your testicles off and strung them up to their waist belt so they can give them a little *squeeze* when they want some-one to buy their drinks.

Stay the hell out of my way.

And for you ladies, don’t fear me. I am the reason for you spending all that time to get ready and look so gorgeous. I love, adore and think of you all day. Your beauty astounds me and to me, is living proof that the world was created. It is a shame that these pathetic sheep men can’t see how stunning you are. You are my irresistible sweet lust and it is within my natural instinct to find, charm and seduce you.

I desire you.

More?

The 6 different male clubbers

3 steps to becoming a successful Rude Boy

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One Comment on “The Psychology Of A Player”


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