Throw your body around like you stole it; burn that rubber, and screw yourself into oblivion.
Venus is deep in the mounds of Viagrus this astrological period. This signifies pound town for you. Go get some, it’s time to sow your wild oats. Throw your body around like you stole it; burn that rubber, and screw yourself into oblivion. New relations are afoot, get some. If you’re lucky, you’ll lay a bunch of eggs. Your number is 69.
It’s time to come to terms with the fact that it’s not them; it’s you.
Multiple failed marriages, No friends to speak of, the outcast of the workplace: It’s time to come to terms with the fact that it’s not them; it’s you.
That whole “Oh, I’m just a straight-talking-Sagittarius” shit just won’t cut it anymore. You need to re-evaluate your and come to terms with the fact that you’re flawed at the very core before it’s too late.
Recognizing the fact that there’s a world outside your iPhone may make you realize just how little you have really contributed to the world.
Stop scrolling through Facebook. Stop revolving your life around Instagram. Hate to break it to you, but you are genetically incapable of putting anything interesting into 10,000 words let alone the 250 characters allowed by Twitter.
Recognizing the fact that there’s a world outside your iPhone may make you realize just how little you have really contributed to the world. Counteract this potential existential crisis by doing something creative with your life; read a book, listen to an album that hasn’t been covered by Boyce Avenue.
Women around the world are saying “I told you so” as men who never listened to them finally confirm that a form of neuro-evolutionary retardation causes men to unwittingly ignore and interrupt women.
Doctors are referring to the impediment as “hypophrenic impotence,” which is defined as the inability to acknowledge and, in some cases, notice a woman’s presence in a mixed gender social situation. The condition is specific to men of every race, age group and religious background and dates as far back as word of mouth.
But it wasn’t until recently that experts confirmed this unappealing behavior as a neurophysiological trait rather than a mere rumor told by women.
You have undoubtedly encountered impotent hypophrenics in a bar, a restaurant, or any other type of social hub.
Conversation ensues as the table fills with men and women. John Doe, our long-suffering man, will strike up a conversation with Jane. He asks what her job is and if she is single and her response of “Lawyer and happily engaged” triggers the poor man’s condition. (John is seeking casual fun, so this is not what he wants to hear).
Jane’s lack of use to him triggers a hypophrenic reaction making him instantly blind to her existence. As soon as the word “lawyer” exits her mouth, he loses the ability to hear what she says and will begin to talk over her or start a conversation with the man sitting nearest to her.
Despite Jane being the primary source of income in her relationship, when they say their goodbyes John will pat her on the small of her back and tell her to ensure ‘he takes good care of you, sweetheart.’
Initial research into the condition revealed that hypophrenic impotence is a symptom of evolutionary stagnancy in the frontal lobe. As a result, situations such as the one just described send the ignarus mentula part of the prefrontal cortex into overdrive. In the case of sufferers of this condition, the brain only recognizes people who can potentially fulfill a Neanderthal role to fill in the subjects’ life.
You see, impotent hypophrenics interpret women as a biological necessity filling the role of food supplier, sexual conquest, and source of admiration. Once a woman removes herself from any of these functions by expressing self-sufficiency or by being intellectually challenging, sexually unavailable or simply “not food,” the ignarus mentula blocks her out. And, if the subject has a particularly keen amygdala, he may even perceive her as a threat.
We now know that impotent hypophrenia is hereditary, and the onset is generally reported as coinciding with the start of puberty. The deformity is passed down by fathers who are unable to see their female partners as anything more than a service to themselves and their house to bring forth sons with a similar outlook.
Doctors initially recommended cognitive behavioral therapy but later found this method to be ineffective because most CBT providers are women. However, now that men are becoming more aware of the condition, a cure might not be so far away.
If you suspect that you or a loved one may be suffering from hypophrenic impotence, find out if you are eligible to participate in medical research by calling your nearest healthcare provider.
The debate surrounding the “right” way to prepare coffee has divided the barista community. Once united over a mutual, diehard passion for the coffee bean, baristas around the country are now ditching their bespoke “roasteries” and “straineries” for coffee-crazed militant groups. Some attribute this to the rise of nationalism in the coffee preparation trade. The Pulp Press reached out to Bean and Gone militant, Sebastian Harvey-Mott, for comment.
For Sebastian Harvey-Mott (Seb to his friends), it all started the summer he graduated from high school and got his first-ever summer job as a customer service rep at Starbucks Coffee, where, over the course of his two-month contract, Seb memorized the essentials of artful coffee making. Seb had been storing a novel in the pipelines since his second year of college where he studied Mexican Folklore at DeVry University. Seb felt confident that, thanks to his coffee expertise, academic prowess, and one-month volunteer experience building houses in Mexico he had the intellectual worldliness to pad out the next revolutionary piece of literature.
But Seb was forced to deviate from his plan due to his poor spending habits. No publisher or Kinko’s franchise wanted to print Seb’s book, and he was barely making more than minimum wage at now full-time barista job at Starbucks. “I could barely afford my apartment, friendships, and coffee dates – even with a monthly allowance from my parents.”
Seb’s expenditures forced him to work tiring hours, but it was all worth it when a headhunter found his LinkedIn profile and recruited him for a sales rep position at Bean and Gone, an independent café-boutique just up the road from home. “They said they could tell I was the barista just by the way I composed myself,” Seb recalls.
Seb accepted the job before he even heard the whole offer, and he got a pay rise just as quickly. Furthermore, knowing he was working for an independent company rather than a faceless corporation made him feel closer to a higher purpose.
Working at Bean and Gone was a pleasure. The shop was full of penguin classics for casual browsing when not manning the machines. Seb could enjoy his 15-minute break knowing that, while he sat with his Guatemalan drip filtered coffee, he could be seen flicking through any number of pieces of renowned literature.
Seb felt like his colleagues “got” him; they were all lovers of the drip filter, the manifestly superior coffee method. Seb’s coworkers invited him to attend meetups, held by the local branch of the nationwide Beaners Collective, in a local warehouse in an up-and-coming part of town.
“There was like a sense of oneness in this group of talented artists of cuisine,” Seb recalls. But the collective effervescence turned cold when nobody could agree on the “right” coffee preparation method.
Seb explains, “If you drink anything but the drip, you might as well drink earl grey.”
The preparation discussion turned into a dramatic argument that is now considered one of the most controversial and divisive subjects in barista discourse. The debate pulled The Beaners apart as smaller factions emerged per preferred preparation method.
Sebastian remained aligned with Bean and Gone and was lucky enough to land another job in the clubhouse of the “Drip Filter Tilters, the baddest crew in Portland,” before things got too crazy. The rivalries all started pretty innocently; the odd bit of abuse thrown on the street, boycotting of rivals shops and the odd bit of shop front graffiti but it didn’t take long to get ramped up.
Gang colors and tattoos were an inevitable turn in the rapidly inflaming rivalries between factions. They allowed for easy identification and made it easier to pick out rivals on the streets and know what coffee shops were housing them. Some say the tattoos are what sparked the violence.
In the last six months, coffee connoisseurs have seen several incidents involving the throwing of hot coffee, shipment hijacking, and ritual de-bearding (a humiliation tactic). However, the tension and conflict have only intensified and become more violent. This year alone has seen a total of 53 fatalities result from brutal coffee-related incidents. In December of last year, two young Decaf Instant enthusiasts (A.K.A Before Bedtime Boys or TripleB’s) were force-fed double Columbian espresso until they died of cardiac overload. This January, two people were killed in a midnight raid when the NYPD replaced the Brooklyn faction’s entire bean supply with decaf. The resulting caffeine deficiency left two of the members in a state of comatose before dying days later. The deaths were reported as natural (but under suspicious circumstances).
With the wars raging on and no signs of a peace treaty, these angry caffeine heads will soon be rivaling the Crips and Bloods for pointless killings.
Nevertheless, Seb has high hopes for the future of the bean. Still sporting the gang emblem on his barista apron and with a balaclava rolled fashionably high over his years from last night’s hijinks he leaves us with this little insight: “I know we will end up losing small battles here and there, I may even end up losing a friend or two but fighting for what I believe in is more important to me than all of that. My father got to fight for his country, something he loved, as did his father before him. This is my time to shine, my gauntlet to face. I am proving myself and I know deep down in my heart that soon the nonbelievers will come around or be ground up like the bean we all love so much.”
Three weeks after this interview, Seb was identified by his dental records after the well known ‘dry roasting’ incident in which three gangs all conned into believing there was a black market Colombian coffee sale. All three were locked in a huge cargo container and rather ironically roasted at around 500 degrees for 5 to 10 minutes.