It seems inconceivable, in this golden epoch when no reality exists for man except the limitless gratification of his sexual perversions, that there should persist, like a nagging dose of syphilis, little unpornulated pockets of the daily humdrum that afford little or no opportunity for titillation. Of course there are only three of them, but persist they do. Schlumping a load of greyish wet underwear into the dryer is one. Getting stitches in your eye is another. And of course the heaviest weight of libido-crushing unsexiness known to plague civilization’s dominant class — the dreary three minutes’ privation between the ordering of a coffee at a drive-thru and the picking up of the coffee at the drive-thru window — is a boner-wilting void made interminable by a vexing paucity of cleavage, lap dances and hottie sex-talk.
O happy day! The Seattle Times reports that the coffee-queue drought is over for those hubba-bubbas lucky enough to live within jizzin distance of the Great Northwest. Classy dudes who simply can’t make it to the strip club without a little tent-pitching pick-me-up can now wheel through any number of “commuter coffee stops” featuring “bodacious baristas, flirty service and ever more-revealing outfits.” One sterling representative of his species knows his rights: “If I’m going to pay $4 for a cup of coffee, I’m not going to get served by a guy.”
Sometimes the commuter coffee stops host “theme days”. Guess what the themes are! That’s right! “Schoolgirl” or the highly original “adding glasses for a sexy ‘secretary’ look.” Now that’s bodacious!
If the expression of hatred mixed with ennui that contorts the countenances of many of the world’s baristas is any indication, making with the me-so-horny routine — on top of eking it out in a servile Mcjob requiring one to wear makeup and “do” one’s hair — is bound to lift the flagging spirits! Not just of baristas and their bodaciosity-starved customers, but of all mankind! Is there anything that porn can’t fix?