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Mr Pick Up Artist

When it comes to attracting women, Julz has all the appeal of a Rohypnol scented jizz rag under a racing car bed. Standing at 5 foot fuck all, he resembles a sort of Gargoyle figure that attempts to melt knickers away with a red hot wiggle of his monobrow. Over time his personality became as grim as his reflection, and he sought refuge in the manipulatory fuckery of pickup artistry.

Now, if the neck-licker that wrote The Game is an artist, then Julz is more of a cooked cunt who finger paints his hopes & dreams using his own excrement. His first foray into pickup techniques was the infamous “negging” tactic. Ideally, the tactic works by slightly lowering a woman’s self-esteem to the point where she would “bounce back” by getting fingered by a piece of shit like yourself.

He slimed his way up to a Cougarlicious Colombian cutie and began the dance of the desperate, “great tits, can still tell they’re fake though”. She is taken aback by the Joop burning her eyes and the greasy leer of a salivating scrote. She attacks him like George Bush Jnr would attack a petrol station after running out of fuel on route to a waterboarding convention. She launches into a tirade of fast-paced sass and ethnic hand gesturing, “oh nooo, oh noo no nooo, mmmm you wouldn’t even have the balls to fuck, little man”.

He desperately tries to remember his YouTube training and pearls of wisdom learnt at some rapey seminar. He freezes, as the Cougar senses he is a massive pussy and goes in for the kill. “Come onnnn little man, let us all see what you’re packing”. Is he going to do it? Is he going to hang dong at the bar in an attempt to claw back some dignity?

As it happens, the manipulated becomes the manipulator, and Julz flops it out. Holy shit. His cartoon connection cock looks like Agro after he got shrunk in the washing machine. “Oh puto, you want a girl to suck your dick or floss her teeth?” The hysterical laughter cuts him to the bone. Fucking hell he really hates women now.

Needless to say, Julz never learnt his lesson and continued down the path of pathetic poon-wrangling. He was over the moon when he found out that “Roosh” the anti-consent connoisseur was coming to town. Return of the Kings! It’s about time he, and like-minded kings, congregated outside the OBH to discuss how much they loathed feminine wiles.

Alas, their fearless king had to cancel rape-con due to fears that powerless women protesters posed a security risk to himself and his royal squad of fleshlight fucking royals.

Keep “gaming”, young king.

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