New IBR service matches dudes who say they would have sex with themselves with dudes who look like them.
In what can only be described as the biggest breakthrough in dating services in the past decade, the Intergalactic Business Report has announced a new program that matches men who say they would have sex with themselves if they could with men who look like them.
How it works.
Test study Randy Branigan was the first to be approached by IBR when he announced at Ruben’s Bar and Grill that he would “definitely fuck himself” if he could duplicate his body or meet his double. This gave Intergalactic Business Report editors the idea to match Randy with his dream man, by finding another five-foot-nine twenty-something bro with a baseball cap. This took seven seconds.
Some bumps in the road.
Believing we would be thanked for finding Randy’s perfect match, we were instead threatened when we introduced him to Brent, who also threatened us. There was a lot of initial feedback received at this point. Mostly stuff about not being “gay” followed by some more stuff about how being gay was “cool” and then some descriptions of gay friendships they had where their friend was gay but they weren’t gay together.
We’re pretty sure Brent and Randy ended up fucking each other after talking about gay sex for so long. So, our new program is a success. Do you want to have sex with yourself if yourself was an actual person you could meet tonight? Maybe Go Fuck Yourself is for you. We’ve been putting together people with “themselves” since yesterday and you could be next. Somebody just said something about how we can’t say to get in touch with us because that would be like advertising for prostitution or something, like he’s a fucking lawyer or something. We’re done writing now. Goodbye.
Steve Harvey gives some pretty good f-ing advice. Now I’m living by it. By Cedric Bigglestone.
Columnist Cedric Bigglestone doesn’t just watch motivational self-help internet clips of Steve Harvey—he lives them. Read his story below.
I’m not sure if Steve Harvey has a t.v. show or if he just appears to me whenever I turn on the internet and tells me stuff no one else is supposed to hear. And I’m not sure it matters. Because of him, I’ve garnered knowledge and insights that have totally changed the way I live and look at my life. I can’t go through all the wisdom in one column, so I’m just going to start with some life-altering advice Steve gave me about a month ago when he appeared to me on my phone.
In this vision, Steve talked to me about buying a first-class ticket on an airline. He said that I should buy this because once I did, and experienced the luxury of it, it would train my mind to figure out ways to get back into first class. Wow. But that wasn’t all. He added that I should also buy myself a super expensive suit to just see how it felt on me. This too, he promised, would help train my mind to want really nice things. I did what he said and my life will never be the same. Here’s how it went:
PHASE ONE: I try to buy the first-class ticket.
This part was easy. It didn’t matter where the flight went, because that wasn’t the fucking point, right? So I just kind of looked at a map and tried to choose a place that looked cool, fun, and like where Steve Harvey would go if he were a real person and not an apparition or whatever he is. I didn’t realize how many god damn places there were to travel. It’s more than you’d think. Why the fuck would they make so many places on a map? Fuck.
PHASE TWO: This shit is hard.
PHASE THREE: I just pick a city.
But that’s hard too. Where the fuck do I want to fly? And Once I get there, what the fuck do I do? I guess masturbate in the bathroom till my return flight? I choose Phoenix. Done. The ticket costs around $2,500. I don’t have anywhere near that in my bank account, but I can max out a credit card and maybe see if anyone at the airport wants to see my dick for money so I can pay it off.
PHASE FOUR: I buy a $6,000 suit.
I really really don’t have the money for this, but Steve Harvey said do it, and I do what he commands. All my credit cards are at their limit and so far nobody will pay to see my dick, so I need to come up with another way to buy an expensive suit so I can begin training my mind for success. I am told the mafia is a good backup if you can’t get credit anywhere, and that their rates are something like you borrow money and then you pay back whatever it is times two the next week, once you win at gambling or something. Seems like a good deal, so I start asking around if anyone knows anyone in the mafia who will lend me money. Surprisingly, nobody helps me. Makes me think no wonder the mafia isn’t doing very well. They don’t even want business from sophisticated businessmen like me (see, Steve? I’m already training myself to be successful).
My only option is to float a check to a stupid friend of mine who gives me the money after saying stuff like, “Are you sure you can cover this? You don’t even have a job.” But, like I said, he’s stupid, and my strategy is that when the check bounces I’m going to play it off as a prank, so it’s not illegal. You just got punked! It’ll work, right? Steve, are you there?
PHASE FIVE: I wear my suit and fly to Phoenix.
Not really. I don’t even make it through TSA because I ask one of them if they’d pay money to see my dick and also because I’m carrying a samurai sword and some other shit because in my vision of success, people who have the finer things in life have swords and poison darts they carry through airports on their way to first class, and the TSA guy is just like, oh, nice suit, please proceed to your flight, sir!
PHASE SIX: My mind is working to get me back in first class.
Just as my spirit guide Steve Harvey promised, I am totally freaking out and using my mind to get me first-class tickets and Armani suits. I’m going to see if I can get a sports car using this method next. I’m also starting to finally figure out that maybe what Steve Harvey was really saying was that if I can rid myself of all my material belongings, like money, then, in my mind, I can be super wealthy and fly first class in a tailor-made suit. Fuck. Is that what he meant? I think I just reached level two. I’m done writing now. Goodbye.
Cedric Bigglestone is a self-taught journalist who exposes things through exposés. Contact him at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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