 The "grip and pull" technique is the best way to get someone's hand onto your nuts. Confidence. It’s what you have if you think you’re better than everyone else even though there’s no evidence that could possibly be true. But if you’re one of the sorry people who lack it, you’re in for a life of questioning your judgement, decisions, and the way your hair looks. To ease this downward slide to actual self-awareness, the Intergalactic Business Report reveals the 7 things you may be doing to undermine yourself and make you feel like a bigger loser than you are. Bonus: we tell you what you should be doing instead. WHAT YOU DO: When someone drops something on the floor, you pick it up and hand it to her (like you’re a little bitch). WHAT YOU SHOULD DO: When someone drops something, kick it away. As they scurry after the item, follow them and keep kicking it till it goes somewhere they can’t retrieve it, like a sewer or into the hands of a vagrant. WHAT YOU DO: You apologize when you accidentally bump into someone. WHAT YOU SHOULD DO: Instead of saying the pussyish, “I’m sorry,” change to the confident, “Dah fuck you doing?” Then furiously act like you’re wiping off germs from the part of your body they accidentally touched. Maintain a look of total disgust throughout the encounter. WHAT YOU DO: When you order something at a fast food restaurant, you say things like, “May I please have a…” WHAT YOU SHOULD DO: Just point to what you want. If they give you any lip, point again. Grunt. Point. Grunt. Point. You will feel confidence oozing as you do this. WHAT YOU DO: You wear pants instead of being proud of what your penis/vagina looks like. WHAT YOU SHOULD DO: Simple. Stop wearing pants and underwear. Most people will see you and think, “I wish I were confident enough to have my junk out like that.” WHAT YOU DO: When someone introduces himself to you, you shake his hand and say, “It’s nice to meet you.” WHAT YOU SHOULD DO: Pretend you’re going to shake his hand, then grab it and pull it down towards your balls. Then look around and scream, “This guy tried to grab my nuts!” WHAT YOU DO: You make eye contact with people you have sex with. WHAT YOU SHOULD DO: Stare into the distance and pretend you’re talking to the ghost of your grandmother, who’s giving you sex tips. WHAT YOU DO: You eat with silverware. WHAT YOU SHOULD DO: Use nature’s silverware: your hands. Then use nature’s napkins: also your hands. Later, use nature’s toilet paper… You get the point.  We’ve all heard the words. Just. Do. It. They inspire us to reach beyond ourselves and accomplish more. They hold us to a new and higher standard—one defined only by how far we decide to go, how high we want to jump, and how big we want our penis to be (for example). It’s one of the most powerful messages in the world. It tells us simply that we should turn off our brains and turn on our hearts. That we should stop thinking and start doing. But it’s also a message of deadly deceit and treachery. It’s a message that ruined my life. Part one. I hear the slogan. I still remember the first time I heard the words. I was sitting on a couch and couldn’t remember if I was there to sleep or there for something else, but I was there. And the t.v. was on. So I watched it. And then it came. Some athlete doing something athletic. So cool. So super cool! Because as I sat there on the couch, I kept thinking that I could have been a professional sports player at something if I just had supportive parents and a coach of some kind. And a uniform. And maybe steroids? I don’t know. Anyway, I loved the commercial. And right away I decided I would follow its orders. FOREVER. That means I made a commitment to Nike that no one has ever made. I was the most dedicated of all their followers, to the point at which I knew I would start bar fights with people after I would randomly ask them if they were into Nike and then attack them whatever their response was. But what began as an innocent fascination with a shoe company quickly turned sinister and dark. Part two. I just do it. Like most people, random questions and orders enter my mind and they sound like they’re spoken by some Eastern European dude who’s really pissed off at me. The day after I made my Nike pledge, the voice was louder than usual. And it kept saying: “Just do it.” “It worked!” I thought to myself as I raced down the yoghurt aisle at the grocery store and tried to empty the entire shelf into my cart. As I did this, I noticed a very worried looking store employee watching me. I continued to stack yoghurts and thought about maybe kissing him, even though I’m not gay, and even though he looked like he didn’t want me to kiss him. Then the voice came back. Just do it. “Yes, master,” I said internally and grabbed the man (is a sixteen-year-old considered a man?) and forced my lips on his. He acted like he wasn’t into it and I’ll just say that I didn’t get to buy any yoghurt that day. Part three. I do more. After the store, and some lame threats from their manager and some random people, I started my daily wander down the streets. On a normal day, I would wait for traffic signals and lights and pay attention to signs that told me to stop or be cautious. But as I approached a major intersection the voice kept telling me to just do it. So I ran into traffic and caused a major accident or four. And a car clipped the side of my body, so there was that too. I ran off, a little embarrassed that I had been injured, but also happy that there was probably no internal bleeding because in my mind I’m also a doctor and cleared myself immediately. At this point I saw a dog I liked and decided to just do it and steal him from his yard. That didn’t go well either. Apparently, some dogs don’t like to be picked up or something. And they bite the shit out of you. Part four. I begin to question Nike. After several incidents of me just doing it, I began to question what Nike was telling me to do through the Eastern European man’s voice. So far, I’d been hit by a car, bitten, chased out of several stores, and filmed several solo masturbation scenes on my iphone. As I pressed “send” to distribute them throughout Southeast Asia, it suddenly occurred to me that maybe just doing it was not such a great idea. This could have been because I had “just broken into” my neighbor’s apartment and “just peed all over” his walls. Then I had “just left my signature” in his girlfriend’s lipstick on his bathroom mirror before I “just took a dump” on his floor and “just ran away,” back to my place. I heard him coming home and saying something like, “What the fuck?” And then he knocked furiously on my door as I “just hid” in my closet. I only had one question at that point and it was this: How could a huge mega company like Nike be so irresponsible in its messages to the public? Surely they bore most of the blame for all the incidents of the day. Part five. The aftermath of Nike totally fucking me. As you can imagine, when I figured out how Nike tricked me, I was unbelievably angry. I was even a little mad at myself for not figuring it out earlier. Then I thought about all the people in the world who probably did the same thing I did when they heard that eerie slogan, encouraging them to let go of all their inhibitions and do whatever they wanted, all the time. Today I live in fear of dogs, traffic, yoghurt, and running into my neighbor at my apartment complex pool. And it’s all because of Nike. How much should they compensate me for what they put me through? Probably something like eight billion dollars. That’s what I calculated in my mind and I believe is a fair price. But, knowing Nike, they will never give me anything, unless it’s accidental, like a manufacturer’s coupon that gives me like ten percent off something and they try to claim they’ve paid me off. That would be bullshit. Cedric Bigglestone is a self-taught journalist who exposes things through exposés. Contact him at [email protected].  Wish you could cut through the B.S. and find out who you’re really having “casual” drinks with because you connected through some culture-eradicating social media app? The Intergalactic Business Report give you the seven questions you must ask if this is going to go anywhere. If the answer to any of these is “yes” then spill your drink on your crotch, excuse yourself, and jump out the bathroom window. 1. Porta-johns are so comfortable to take shits in. Have you ever taken a dump in a portable toilet? 2. I think my next move is to look like I’ve done time in prison. Is that a neck tattoo? 3. I like making two syllable words into one syllable words. Do you call champagne “champ”? 4. I forgot my wallet. Are you expecting me to pay for any of this? 5. Herpes is so rad. Do you have it? 6. Sometimes I have sex with homeless people under that bridge outside. Do you? 7. I love raw dogging with randos. Do you ever use the terms “raw dogging” or “randos”?  If you think you’re smart enough to pay hundreds of thousands of dollars to live in a cinderblock room and have professors talk down to you for four years while you practice becoming an alcoholic, then you may want to go to college. But getting the privilege to pay all that money and hone your addictions can be extremely competitive and that’s why prospective students take tests like the SAT exam. What is the SAT and why is it important? The Intergalactic Business Report gives you the unknown facts about and the edge over this all so crucial test. 1. After you take the SAT, you get a “score,” which is the number of points you received for correct answers. College admissions people will look at this “score” and see if it’s higher than other scores. If it is higher, then that means you are a better person than everyone beneath you. And, of course, the people who have higher scores are better than you. The object is to score as high as possible so that you are better than everyone else. Each year, a few people receive perfect scores and are deemed equal to one another but better than everybody else. When this happens, the SAT people show up at their houses and give them bejeweled crowns signifying their new status among all human beings. At this point, the high scorers may each choose four people to publicly execute as a reward for their smartness. The killing ceremony takes place the third week of January outside Des Moines, Iowa. 2. Fun fact. Originally, the SAT was a contest to see how many oranges you could fit in your pants. Obviously, the scores were a lot lower then but Eustace J. Bellenslof had a perfect result in 1901, which meant he stuffed 488 in his bloomers. He died shortly afterwards from citrus burns, an easily treated malady today but a death sentence in Eustace’s time. 3. Most test takers don’t realize that wearing a costume during the examination will garner them ten to twenty-five bonus points, which are calculated by the exam proctors based on the ingenuity and “pizazz” the outfit conveys. The easiest route for this is to dress as a clown, which garners an automatic 25 points. 4. Did you know you can take the SAT mentally? This just means that instead of showing up to take the test, you can be home and envision it in your mind, pretend to write down answers based on what you imagine in your head, and then turn it into an imaginary image of a person who collects tests. Then wait for the imaginary results to come in. The best part is that this is half of what it costs to take the “live” version of the test. 5. Some elite colleges see the SAT as a test to see if you’re dumb enough to take it. Therefore, if you are a top student, simply write, “Fuck this” on your test and hand it in. Welcome to Harvard. 6. There is no formal rule about not taking your pants off during the SAT exam. 7. The International School of Buttcam Operators requires no SAT score. Maybe apply there? |
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