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vidual’s “justification” for baby-trapping the fuckwit:</p><p id="cf11"><i>Now, what you need to know about me is that I am a serial opportunist; I have always been. And it got me really far in life.</i></p><p id="d983">So that’s why I’m a total flop. I wonder if it’s too late for me to become a “serial opportunist.”</p><p id="b23c" type="7">Hey, you successful side-hustlers, what do you think?</p><p id="fc39">No. Just like my inability to get paid for my thirty-five years of experience as a writer, I’m probably too late for that, as well. Such is life.</p><p id="bc40">I’m hoping that this nauseating story, written by an amoral narcissist is satire. There’s always that chance, but I’m doubting it.</p><p id="b2c3">When the turdmeister finally got around to telling the schmo that “they” were pregnant, she was twelve weeks in. After asking a colleague to drive her to the guy’s town, they hooked up. Of course, they did!</p><p id="47f1">She was “determined to have a beautiful day with him.” Before springing the news about that bump expanding her gut.</p><p id="24b8">And, beautiful it was folks. Try not to tear up over the following:</p><p id="1482"><i>We kissed, we exchanged stories, we were living the life. I asked him what he’d told his wife, and he said: ‘Nothing, she doesn’t talk to me at the moment’.</i></p><p id="7411">I wonder why!?</p><p id="4ca2">And then they banged.</p><p id="6686"><i>We went and had amazing sex. I enjoyed every second of it. When we were both done, he did something he never usually did. He asked me what I was thinking.</i></p><p id="8cb2">And then she told him. Do you think this fool stuck around? Any bets?</p><p id="3da2">Oh, by the way, this repellent little tale received over 6.9k claps. She deserves the “clap,” alright. But, the shit is never fair is it?</p><p id="5ff5">No wonder I’m turning into a misanthrope.</p><p id="ca25"><i>© Sherry McGuinn, 2022. All Rights Reserved.</i></p><p id="5262">If you can handle it, read every one of my stories and those of other fab Medium writers. I’ll get a couple of shekels and you’ll have full access to this whole joint! <a href="https://sherrymcguinn.medium.com/membership">https://sherrymcguinn.medium.com/membership</a> Or, fuck it.</p><p id="dde2">And if this story gave you goosies, please check out the ones I’ve conveniently linked to, as well as my newsletter, <a href="https://sherryraw.substack.com/">Sherry Raw.</a></p><figure id="93e5"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/0*7wyLKZq9__PlD2aU.jpeg"><figcaption></figcaption></figure><p id="3df1"><i>Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. She is currently pitching her newest screenplay, “The Month We Fell Apart,” a drama with dark, comedic overtones inspired by a true story, as well as “DEAD TIRED,” a fema

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ANOTHER TALE FROM THE TOILET

Ladies, Would You Baby-Trap a Married Man?

Time for a rant

How is everyone today? Hale and hearty, I hope. As for me, whatever bug, or bugs took me down over the past three weeks are apparently becoming weary of my old broad bod and are moving onto greener pastures.

In other words, although I’m not out of the woods completely, I’m feeling a bit better, albeit, masochistic. Why? Because I continue to let myself be drawn in by turdmeisters with enormous chips on their shoulders. Like the one who recently shat out a tale about “tricking” a married man into impregnating her because the ole’ biological clock was ticking like a live grenade.

Who does this?

As you might expect, the writing was akin to a fart in the face, with head-scratching gems like the following liberally sprinkled throughout:

We sat on the sofa together, he took my hand in his, and after a brief consideration in the bathroom, he told me that he’d decided it would be okay to sleep with me. And there it was: we were having an affair.

Can someone illuminate me, here? What does one “consider” in the bathroom, other than the fact that it’s taking forever to rid oneself of the three pieces of pumpkin pie one ate after getting tanked at the family holiday gathering?

Let’s see. What else merits consideration in the crapper? The ludicrously high price of buttwipe, perhaps. I often consider that when I’m copping a squat and down to yet another cardboard roll.

So this guy went to the john and ruminated on “sleeping” with this desperate-to-be-a-mom loser. I wonder how he made the decision to do the deed. Was it something in the bathroom that tilted the scale in her favor? Her dainty hand towels, perhaps? Or something in her medicine cabinet? (Everybody looks. Get over it.) There certainly was no birth control in there.

Apparently, from the title of this piece, the turdmeister thinks that having a married dude’s kid is “no big deal.” In fact, her title ends with the stunningly immature, “so what?”

“So what?” You baby-trap a married moron, and it’s no big thing?

I suppose when you’re thirty-nine and can’t find a guy of your own, either single or divorced, going down to skank town and reeling in some dumb, amoral schmuck who spouts the “my wife won’t have sex with me” bullshit, is the way to go.

My jaw dropped to the floor as I skimmed this poop, especially when I read the individual’s “justification” for baby-trapping the fuckwit:

Now, what you need to know about me is that I am a serial opportunist; I have always been. And it got me really far in life.

So that’s why I’m a total flop. I wonder if it’s too late for me to become a “serial opportunist.”

Hey, you successful side-hustlers, what do you think?

No. Just like my inability to get paid for my thirty-five years of experience as a writer, I’m probably too late for that, as well. Such is life.

I’m hoping that this nauseating story, written by an amoral narcissist is satire. There’s always that chance, but I’m doubting it.

When the turdmeister finally got around to telling the schmo that “they” were pregnant, she was twelve weeks in. After asking a colleague to drive her to the guy’s town, they hooked up. Of course, they did!

She was “determined to have a beautiful day with him.” Before springing the news about that bump expanding her gut.

And, beautiful it was folks. Try not to tear up over the following:

We kissed, we exchanged stories, we were living the life. I asked him what he’d told his wife, and he said: ‘Nothing, she doesn’t talk to me at the moment’.

I wonder why!?

And then they banged.

We went and had amazing sex. I enjoyed every second of it. When we were both done, he did something he never usually did. He asked me what I was thinking.

And then she told him. Do you think this fool stuck around? Any bets?

Oh, by the way, this repellent little tale received over 6.9k claps. She deserves the “clap,” alright. But, the shit is never fair is it?

No wonder I’m turning into a misanthrope.

If you can handle it, read every one of my stories and those of other fab Medium writers. I’ll get a couple of shekels and you’ll have full access to this whole joint! https://sherrymcguinn.medium.com/membership Or, fuck it.

And if this story gave you goosies, please check out the ones I’ve conveniently linked to, as well as my newsletter, Sherry Raw.

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. She is currently pitching her newest screenplay, “The Month We Fell Apart,” a drama with dark, comedic overtones inspired by a true story, as well as “DEAD TIRED,” a female-driven, ass-kicking thriller.