The fuckboy is a breed of human that is now epidemically plaguing social media with pictures of their weekend activities at “exclusive” nightclubs clutching onto half empty bottles of Grey Goose, captioned with deep quotes about how “Blessed” they are to live that life with their “squads”.
Having spent years working in an industry surrounded by these vile, degenerate, proverbial assholes of society — I feel it is now my duty to expose the fraud and warn women everywhere about the dangers that come from dallying with one.
Have you ever received a random WhatsApp message from a guy calling himself “VIPLife” inviting you down to his “secret event” on the weekend promising to “hook you up?” — If so, the chances are you are communicating with a first class fuckboy, so be warned.
Club Promoting is now the career of choice for many a fuckboy, largely because it is the quickest way to pretentiously appear online as if you are “killing it” without actually having to work for the lifestyle…
The sad reality is that they still live with their parents, drive a rusty Ford Ka on finance and sleep alone every-night in a Toy Story quilt, stalking women out of their league online.
The fraud being openly displayed by fuckboys is something that even Bernie Madoff would now bow his head at.
The evolution of the fuckboy has done little to change their core values over the years that primarily disrespects women, despite the fact that they may have upgraded their flip-up Nokia to a fake gold-plated iPhone and replaced the snap-back with a fedora and black skinny jeans ripped at the knee.
Every night of their lives are spent “bantering” with other fuckboys outside second-rate nightclubs about the girl they “Took home last night” and how they have another “Slut” lined up this evening.
Inevitably, the girl that they claim they “banged all night”, and kicked out of their “crib this morning” left the club as soon as the “Grey Goose” bottles were finished and were fast asleep tucked up in bed while they were scratching around for some loose change at the end of the night to pay for their night bus home.
If you do happen to fall victim to a spammy invite from one of their “companies” with the predictably ambitious title of “Prestige Parties” or “VIP Lifez” then prepare yourself for a night of complete disappointment.
— This is what will actually go down;
You will arrive at the club and message said fuckboy that you have arrived. He will be outside the club staring into his phone pretending to be busy. You approach and introduce yourself and he will immediately direct you to join the queue which is now tailing around the corner — not the queue-jump you were promised when he was “selling the dream” to you on WhatsApp.
Eventually you make it inside the club and spend twenty minutes looking around for your fuckboy, but he is nowhere to be seen? Upon further investigation you will discover he’s either trying to chat up a girl at the bar with “You must be Jamaican, because Jamaican me crazy” or trying to get one of his fuckboy friends into the club who has turned up in a pair of Nike Air Max’s
You go back outside and ask where you “table” is, and after a few minutes of listening to him talk shit he takes you back downstairs, giving the bouncer a high-five to try and impress you along the way walking straight past the “VIP” you were expecting, until you arrive at a tiny side-table next to the toilet which is already packed with another fifteen equally unimpressed guests.
Once everyone is inside, fuckboy will take a picture of everyone at the table making sure he is in the middle pulling a peace sign for his latest Facebook profile picture, and brings out “the bottle”
The arrival of the bottle and the obligatory sparkler is all captured on fuckboys Snapchat alongside the caption “balling” before he begins pouring the vodka into everyone’s mouths directly in a pathetic attempt to appear “cool” — at this point you notice that the fake “Grey Goose” tastes watered down, but still leaves the back of your throat burning like painful bowel movement.
The next hour will be spent sober as the booze has all finished, despite fuckboy telling you “It is just coming”, “They are making it now” etc — So you head back upstairs, get in a taxi and go home.
Along the way you receive an sms from fuckboy, saying, “Where you go?—I just brought out a Jeroboam of Cristal” attaching a picture of himself standing next to a genuine ballers table claiming it as his own.
Three days later, you receive another WhatsApp asking, “Netflix and chill?”
If you are a fuckboy and reading this, please let this be a reality check. There is nothing cool about being broke in a club you can’t afford —The girls on your table don’t like you, they are using you to meet real ballers, despite the obvious attraction of your kind invite to go to Nandos.
P.s — If you want to learn how to become a proper club promoter and not a fuckboy— Click the banner below and use the code “sonarz” to get 10% off this eBook!