Starbucks manager hopeful brags about 1,000 sexual encounters
Now that everyone’s all worked up over this sexual harassment stuff, it’s time for me to speak up on behalf of every living thing on earth that might have genitalia. Or reproductive organs. Or both.
You might be aware that last week I applied for regional manager of Starbucks Southeast. Yes, it’s a big responsibility. I’ll oversee the quality of every single one of our coffee shops in 10 states. Even if they’re just one of those places with a sign that reads, “We Proudly Brew Starbucks…” They’ll still answer to me. So you need to know about my sexual history.
Let me save you some time. Over the past 12 years, I’ve had intimate relations with a thousand different guys. Many of them happened under the influence of alcohol, narcotics, or barbiturates.
They range from the uncle who molested me when I was in high school to my first boss, who promised me a reward if I gave him a blow job in the back seat of his sedan. Sheesh, and I thought he was just offering me a ride home from work. It must’ve been a killer bj, because I got a fifty cent raise.
I’m sooooooooo disappointed in this national feeding frenzy. Come on, girls. If you’ve never woken from a drunken stupor to find a middle-aged man unzipping your skinny jeans, you haven’t lived!
In college, I starred in a dozen amateur porn videos. Unfortunately, nobody paid me and they never went viral. I mean they got hundreds of likes, but nothing on the Hilton or Kardashian level. Come to think of it, I don’t know that all of them technically count as pornos. A few of them were filmed on an iPhone. Does that count, at least as a sex tape?
Most of my sexual partners involve supervisors and men in positions of authority. Who has time to date a normal guy my age, when so many important ones want to have sex with you? And they might actually give you some reward in return? Don’t get me wrong. Most of them are fugly. They’re like a four at best. But I don’t care.
A handful of them really make me wanna puke. They’re the ones who have to slip something in my drink, or hold me down while I scream ewwwww grosss stoooop! But you can’t blame them. They’re so fugly, how on earth would they ever get laid unless they forced us a little?
Here’s how I see the whole situation. It’s like eating broccoli when you’re three. You sure as hell don’t want that green shit in your mouth. It tastes disgusting. You scream. You cry. Your parents sit there patiently and wait until just the right moment. Then zooom! Open the hangar.
Come to think of it, that reminds me how I got my first big promotion. This guy from the branch management office came down for a surprise inspection. Let’s call him Bob. He watched me brew three different drinks and complimented my frothing technique. Bob said, “I bet you could froth just about anything.” I giggled. He asked me on a date.
Bob was an average looking guy. But his name plate elevated him just high enough that I said yes.
A name plate elevates a guy 2–4 levels on the 10-point scale. At least temporarily. At some point the name plate has to come off, usually with the shirt. That’s when things get tricky.
Fortunately, there’s all kinds of sedatives.
Anyway, let’s skip ahead. After the date, he lured me up to his hotel room and then unzipped his pants. It was just like the broccoli situation all over again. Me saying ewwwww nooo groooss, and he just waited patiently until the right moment. Then zooom! Open the hangar.
Once it was in, I decided I might as well see what would happen. And that’s how you get ahead, ladies.
Ahead. A head. Get it? Ahhhhhh?
Now can we get back to the real issues? We need to come up with a plan to support Fair Trade and sustainable crops. Save the rain forests, because that’s where we grow our coffee. What happened years ago simply doesn’t matter, whether it involved consent or not. Peace.
