You idiot. You thought there was a person out there who knew 10 different ways to GUARANTEE themselves a blowjob? If I knew, even one way, to get a guaranteed blowjob, I wouldn’t be writing this right now. I’d be getting a blowjob. I’d currently be ejaculating dust like a broken vacuum cleaner from the constant stream of blowjobs. Even crazier to me, you thought you were getting that type of God-like wisdom for free. FREE! Wars get fought over less. The Colonel doesn’t go around listing out his eleven herbs and spices. He goes out and makes money off that delicious fucking chicken (and I’ve only climaxed once from fried chicken). Did you think this was Elite Daily? You honestly thought I’d list ten techniques and explain each one with no irony, as if blowjobs were apples that got plucked from a tongue-tree. Something like, “Touch Her Hair” then write a whole paragraph that starts with, “Hear me out dudes, hair is like awesome, and you gotta touch it right…”
Think about this whole process for a second. Maybe you clicked because why not? But for even half a second you thought an answer to one of life’s biggest conundrums was coming from a tweet. Like we had gone all these years on Earth not knowing how to get guaranteed blowjobs and all the sudden, some kid who recently graduated from some mediocre school (I.e. Indiana), submitted a column to some website and the editors were like, “Wow man, you did it. You figured out BJs in your free time at work.” And then they posted it on a Thursday afternoon like it was any other link. Like guaranteed blowjobs was on the same levels as a fraternity that might get banned. Wouldn’t there be a little more fanfare? A really ugly parade. Or an obese thirteen-year-old “sprinting” down the street like Charlie after he found the golden ticket. Wouldn’t guaranteed blowjobs be the lead story on every news station? A giddy anchorman trying his best to contain his excitement. He’d get half way through the teleprompter read until he just screamed, “Fuck it,” then walked off to a nearby bar to get blown.
But that doesn’t even get us thinking about the future. What was your post-reading- 10-guaranteed-blowjob-solutions plan? You were going to read this list under your desk that you share with five other interns, put your phone in your pocket, walk into a female manager’s office and get to all the sucking’? What if one of the ten ways to guarantee a blowjob was to engage with another person on an interpersonal level, getting to know their thoughts and feelings and emotions in an extra special way until trust and respect are earned? Would you then become a good person? Would you stop sending vulgar stuff over dating apps? A single life changed by a tweet. The impossible dream of every writer. Your wedding vows would include thanking some random tweet about getting blowjobs that changed how you perceived relationships and respecting women.
Who am I to judge? I’ve looked at every article that references a celebrity weight gain that I’ve ever come across. If “5 Celebrity Babies Who Got Fat” was on the internet, I would have clicked on it three times. What was my plan? It’s not like I’d see a friend today and start a conversation by saying, “Ugh, you know whose baby got really fat?” This morning I clicked on, “6 NSFW reasons why robots are the future of sex.” I don’t think I’m that different from the average, robot-sex-wondering, person. Maybe I’m a little excited to know that robot sex may benefit my health. Maybe I’m a bit worried that a drone has seen me ask, “Did that feel good?” more than once. But honestly, I was just trying to get through breakfast.
Click bait is a reality but so is our dumb brains. Our brains want easy consumption just as much as an animal. Getting angry about the list that explains 9 reasons your best friends are like your sisters, that got shared a million times, is like getting mad when saliva forms on your tongue as you smell a nearby McDonald’s. We can all promise to stop clicking on the lists and the cat videos and the robot sex articles but we won’t. We all know that french fries, pizza, and late night texts to an ex, aren’t the best thing for us, but they feel pretty damn good. They give us five minutes where we don’t have to think about our jobs we hate, our bodies we want to change, and our futures that seem so out of reach. So why don’t we just lay off ourselves for a minute. Stop second guessing the things we click on. And realize that without dumb lists and click bait then we’d be stuck with our own thoughts. We are all idiots. Now, someone please tell me how to get a blowjob..
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