Found this on finance website, talk about finding a niche:
Every weekend Long Island and New Jersey girls with orange skin, cheap heels, and extremely short form fitting dresses roll into Penn Station. They come into Manhattan on Friday and Saturday nights to “party” at clubs that have long since lost any semblance of exclusivity or cache (Tenjune, Avenue, etc.). Some of these women are objectively hot, most of them, however, are not. Regardless, they’re all shooting for that Aubrey O’Day look (Google images: Aubrey O’Day), which I, and many other men, thoroughly appreciate.
I live in a full service new construction high rise across the street from Penn Station. It’s a nice building but the neighborhood is doodoo - kinda no man’s land - not quite Chelsea, not quite the Upper West Side. My friends give me shit about living there because it’s so transient, and because they live in much more fashionable parts of Manhattan, in particular Soho (the Eurotrash Short Hills Mall ) and the West Village (ground zero for men who listen to techno and like penis).
The two saving graces of my neighborhood are its close proximity to MSG (I’m going to see The Strokes play there on April 1st) and the Penn Station Taco Bell. Why is close proximity to the latter a perk you might ask?
Long Island and New Jersey girls absolutely love Taco Bell. It’s a magnet for them.
Turbo Cheezy Fatty Melt, Cankles Burrito Supreme, Double Decker Back Fat Taco - they love all that stuff.
And fortuitously, by midnight, the aforementioned girls who earlier came into the city to “party” have reluctantly returned to Penn Station for food and trains. Only now these girls are completely out of it - drunk, confused, upset that Joey from Hempstead never texted - only mildly aware that the last train back to JWoww Town departs in five minutes.
Oh my. What happens if a girl misses a train back to JWoww Town?
Miss the JWoww Train and a girl is stuck in Penn Station for the night. Miss the JWoww train and the fake LV Birkin starts spewing $20 bills - livery cabs, hotels, money for the girlfrend who lost her purse, etc. Miss the JWoww Train and things start to get a little weird.
Anyway, if it’s one thing I know, it’s that girls from Long Island and New Jersey don’t like to pay for hotels if they get stranded in Manhattan overnight. They generally don’t plan for the unforseen and they’re on budgets, and they’d rather sleep with a guy than hit an ATM. How do I know? Quite simply because I’ve picked up 3 different girls at the Penn Station Taco Bell. Kinda hot girls, too.
I’m serious.
While other guys are struggling to get into the Boom Boom Room, buying blow for models who are predestined to bolt, or frantically texting the Indian girl with big cans who works in settlements at Jefferies, I simply opt out. I cut right to the chase and bottom feed.
I troll ass at Taco Bell.
And I pull, too.
I dress super conservative (Vineyard Vines whale present at all times). I strike up a conversation about Mark Sanchez (her daddy loves the Jets!). I mention that I work in finance / don’t know any black people. The next thing you know the Radiohead is pumping (“I’m a creep”), the Stoli is out, and there’s BeBe brand clothing at the foot of my bed.
The point of this story? None really.
Just don’t hate on Taco Bell.
Every weekend Long Island and New Jersey girls with orange skin, cheap heels, and extremely short form fitting dresses roll into Penn Station. They come into Manhattan on Friday and Saturday nights to “party” at clubs that have long since lost any semblance of exclusivity or cache (Tenjune, Avenue, etc.). Some of these women are objectively hot, most of them, however, are not. Regardless, they’re all shooting for that Aubrey O’Day look (Google images: Aubrey O’Day), which I, and many other men, thoroughly appreciate.
I live in a full service new construction high rise across the street from Penn Station. It’s a nice building but the neighborhood is doodoo - kinda no man’s land - not quite Chelsea, not quite the Upper West Side. My friends give me shit about living there because it’s so transient, and because they live in much more fashionable parts of Manhattan, in particular Soho (the Eurotrash Short Hills Mall ) and the West Village (ground zero for men who listen to techno and like penis).
The two saving graces of my neighborhood are its close proximity to MSG (I’m going to see The Strokes play there on April 1st) and the Penn Station Taco Bell. Why is close proximity to the latter a perk you might ask?
Long Island and New Jersey girls absolutely love Taco Bell. It’s a magnet for them.
Turbo Cheezy Fatty Melt, Cankles Burrito Supreme, Double Decker Back Fat Taco - they love all that stuff.
And fortuitously, by midnight, the aforementioned girls who earlier came into the city to “party” have reluctantly returned to Penn Station for food and trains. Only now these girls are completely out of it - drunk, confused, upset that Joey from Hempstead never texted - only mildly aware that the last train back to JWoww Town departs in five minutes.
Oh my. What happens if a girl misses a train back to JWoww Town?
Miss the JWoww Train and a girl is stuck in Penn Station for the night. Miss the JWoww train and the fake LV Birkin starts spewing $20 bills - livery cabs, hotels, money for the girlfrend who lost her purse, etc. Miss the JWoww Train and things start to get a little weird.
Anyway, if it’s one thing I know, it’s that girls from Long Island and New Jersey don’t like to pay for hotels if they get stranded in Manhattan overnight. They generally don’t plan for the unforseen and they’re on budgets, and they’d rather sleep with a guy than hit an ATM. How do I know? Quite simply because I’ve picked up 3 different girls at the Penn Station Taco Bell. Kinda hot girls, too.
I’m serious.
While other guys are struggling to get into the Boom Boom Room, buying blow for models who are predestined to bolt, or frantically texting the Indian girl with big cans who works in settlements at Jefferies, I simply opt out. I cut right to the chase and bottom feed.
I troll ass at Taco Bell.
And I pull, too.
I dress super conservative (Vineyard Vines whale present at all times). I strike up a conversation about Mark Sanchez (her daddy loves the Jets!). I mention that I work in finance / don’t know any black people. The next thing you know the Radiohead is pumping (“I’m a creep”), the Stoli is out, and there’s BeBe brand clothing at the foot of my bed.
The point of this story? None really.
Just don’t hate on Taco Bell.