While there are limitless ways to love someone and make your relationship last, there is only one fool-proof, time-tested formula to ensure it burns and disintegrates as quickly as possible. If you are having trouble getting there, and feel like you are on the brink of break up only some of the time, have no fear. Just adamantly grind down on each step of the following list and in no time your happy, puppy-dog love phase will quickly turn into the highway of relationship-hell between you and your “bub”.
1. Get Too Comfortable
The first time someone you’re romantic with in front of you it’s funny, and (maybe) even (a little) cute. But if you really want to send your partner running, get even more comfortable around them by doing things like waiting a week in between shaving sessions, burping at the dinner table and completely ignoring it, bumming around all weekend without showering or putting deodorant on, etc. Don’t worry. No matter how many times someone tells you that they love all your imperfections, the truth will eventually come out. This is when they’ll realize these aren’t “imperfections,” these are just your gross habits. Remember, you’re the person they are trying to be sexually intimate with on a regular basis—this will make it as difficult as possible. (Note: Only committed, disciplined individuals have the self-restrain to control their bodily functions in the presence of those they love.)
Nothing is more of a turn-off than sleeping with your mother, right? So if relationship turmoil is your ultimate goal, make sure to nit-pick at every irrelevant thing humanly possible. You know that awful, contemplating-suicide-moment when you are trapped alone in a room, usually before bed, with a seemingly invisible mosquito going to town in your earlobe? Become that. If you need more direction with this step, try some of the following exercise:
3. Back to back phone calls and text messages.
When they finally answer, be as silent as possible so they can really feel your anger through the phone.
4. Ask thought-provoking questions
Such as, “Are you going to love our daughter more than me?”
5. Expect them to read your mind. Especially when it comes to date night.
Don’t give any hints to where you want to go or what you want to do. Hell, don’t even tell them the night you want to go out. Let ‘em figure!
6. Treat them like a punching bag.
Why pick up a regular exercise regime like running or hot yoga when you can relieve all of your frustrations on your significant other? It’s convenient—they’re always around and, even when they aren’t, you have calling and texting. This approach works best on those already stressed out and overwhelmed in their own lives, particularly by their jobs and/or family. Make sure you are the icing on the cake for their complete utter misery! If you start to feel bad, take a step back and remember that, at the end of the day, this person is not your friend. They were put into your life to serve you, and only you.
7. Set them up for failure.
Insist on them making you regular, petty promises to do things such as calling you back in exactly an hour, remembering your 4 month anniversary (down to the hour) and creating the ultimate period kit for you. When they fall short, which they will, make sure to blow it out of portion, all while exaggerating how truly disappointed you are and how you never expected to find yourself in a relationship where being trampled on was the norm.
8. Give them friendly reminders you have the power to ruin their happiness with a break-up.
Practice makes perfect, right? Nothing makes a guy want to split more than daily reminders that they are always falling short of your expectations. Unless, of course you…
9. Wear your insecurities on your sleeve, and every other part of your body.
The more often you point out your insecurities, the more they will begin to notice them too and ultimately agree with you: you truly aren’t that great. That barista with blue hair and a shadow of an upper lip mustache? Maybe they aren’t sleeping together behind your back, but that is no reason for him to thank her for the coffee. Speak up. Let him know his deceitful and manipulating behavior can’t continue.
I know relationships are difficult and often appear like they’ve reached the end, only for you to realize they really ARE in love with you and want to make it work despite constant struggles. But eventually, their energy levels must deplete. Stick to this regime daily and before you know it, you will be more alone and miserable than ever!
In 2013, if you like pop music or keep up with pop culture, you’re usually considered someone with “zero taste,” or you’re “unintelligent,” “vapid,” or “mainstream.” Or, you’re keeping up an “ironic” social media presence.
It’s pathetic that grown adults and teenagers roll their eyes and make sarcastic remarks about people who keep up with mainstream music and pop culture.
It’s one thing to be so arrogant that you pretentiously question the authenticity of pop music because it’s being serviced by a major record label but to not understand that it’s a form of performance art (real or not). It’s another thing to not respect it the way you respect music coming from an indie label. Why?
Inauthentic is the new authentic.
For example: When someone who’s familiar with the “lavish work” of David Lynch sees Lana Del Rey, they immediately associate her image with David Lynch and Julee Cruise and not Lana Del Rey, who is who she is. Sure, she may be inspired by Lynch, but for real: which fucking artist isn’t inspired by Lynch in the 2010s?
There’s no need to feel like an outsider or a minority because you’re what hipsters consider “mainstream.” You should feel comfortable contributing to the 10 million “Timber” Vevo views on Ke$ha and Pitbull’s latest smasher and not have it define you. You should be allowed to be able to read Jenna Jameson’s biography during the day, and watch art-house movies directed by Wes Anderson, Gaspar Noe, or whoever is making amazing movies that still aren’t as good as anything mainstream Hollywood is delivering at night. You can and should explore everything.
THE CANYONS is one of my favorite movies of the year and everyone who’s seen every piece of iconic cinema in the world I know attacks me for it. Why? I’m not attacking them for liking Fruitvale Station.
STARS DANCE by Selena Gomez is one of my favorite albums of the year and everyone I know attacks me for it. Why? I’m not attacking them for liking Yeezus.
People think I’m a “hipster” for having an opinion that’s uncommon. Actually, some of us are just honest and truthful to ourselves. We happen to see things in a way that other people don’t like. Is any type of rebelling against the norm intimidating at the surface? Yes, but you shouldn’t attack someone for being different, or think they’re putting on a “gimmick” immediately. Don’t be so quick to judge. Knowledge doesn’t need to have an appearance.
I’ve worn the same black Billabong coat from Zumiez for the last three years and black Levis. It’s not exactly the “hipster uniform” — yet people still call me it? What’s your problem? I’m mainstream. I’m the human equivalent of your local Top 40 radio station. I’m “basic.”
I mostly wear my Adidas sweats and Timbs to walk to the gas station, and I go through phases during which I’m wearing baggy sweaters from the supermarket, big band shirts from Hot Topic and worn out checkered Vans. I don’t remember the last time I showered. This look may be considered “greasy” or “grungy” — but am I desperately trying to look like Kurt, like my self-aware 15-year-old self? No. I’ve just given up on my appearance because my brain is preoccupied with so much static and this just happens to be how it looks.
There shouldn’t be any pressure for teens to be “hipsters,” or to be seen as as “different.” They should consider thinking differently, broadening their mind’s horizons. Expressing yourself and being true to who you are is what matters. Not pretending to be someone you aren’t to make the people around you happy or just to be seen as “cool” or “creative.”
If you are the hip leader in your group of friends, you don’t have to be so callous and call someone a “try hard” for following the way you dress. You should take it as a compliment because you’re inspiring them. It should be flattering, you don’t need to immediately get offended and act like you’re losing your individuality. You aren’t. You’re their style icon.
Besides, natural unorthodox thinking and standing up for what you believe in is way cooler than any outfit in this world.
A person should be free to indulge in all the so-called fetishes that they would desire, as long as they don’t hurt anyone. Anton LaVey
If you see someone talking homophobic, racist or misogynistic in real life, isn’t it more powerful to speak up and tell them to “stop talking like it’s 1905?” to their face than to post on social media about how you’re anti-homophobia, anti-racism and pro-feminism?
Are you actually living what you preach, if you post about it?
Some people live their life in irony, through sarcasm. Think they’re above other people for those who choose to live earnestly. But a life devoid of authenticity and honesty is not living at all.
We get it it. You’re wearing a Justin Bieber shirt as a joke. But the “ironic” part is that you’re super intelligent and currently studying at a liberal arts college and people who are fans of Justin Bieber are so not like that…
Ha ha ha ha ha ?
I’ve gone through a dime a dozen of awful experiences that have pushed me into seeing things through a jagged perspective, but I never see myself as a victim.
Sure, I’ve gone through “plenty of fun” physical and emotional abuse, and had a life-threatening disease at one point (shout out to Lymphoma!) but like, whatever.
So many OTHER guys my age have experienced the things that have happened to me. Probably worse. Abuse is a reality. (WAS HE ASKING FOR IT?)
There are days when I’m full-on battered boy victim, in bed, curled up in the fetal position, screaming my insides into my pillow, and there are days when I tell myself to man the fuck up and create something out of the chaos. (And hey it worked, I ended up writing a book?)
Do not dare to give me sympathy.
I try to look at the most gruesome things that have happened to me as glamorous, or see them through a “pop filter” as a way to cope with my memories of them. This might be me living in denial or me running away from the pain that people try to tell me isn’t there. I am not numb, I am just dumb. What else can I do at this point? Pop is my escape.
Today, my mind is what matters most to me and not my appearance. But it wasn’t always like this.
I grew up in a house hold where pop culture was biblical. My mom would buy tabloids every week, speedy music videos were always on TV, and I was never given classic literature, or shown “real music.” Trends I saw on TV were cool. I bought a Von Dutch hat off eBay because every celebrity had one. I got wristbands and Dickie pants because of Avril Lavigne and Green Day. I bought Chuck Phalaniuk’s Invisible Monsters (never read it) because I had read in an interview with Brendon Urie that said it inspired one of my favorite Panic! At The Disco songs, “Time to Dance.”
(My 7th grade yearbook entry circa 2007.)
Some nights I’m still haunted by the sound of the guy who shouted “Go home rich bitch, go home” to Nicole Richie at that bar on that one episode of The Simple Life. That like stuck with me forever.
Total millennial fever.
I didn’t even wear flannels and striped sweaters until I discovered Kurt Cobain and at my lowest point in getting out of myself.
I started to do lines of Adderall because I thought heroin/drug chic was glamorous. I did it while looking at myself on my iPhone camera, obviously, because how else would I know it was happening if my reflection on a screen wasn’t looking back at me?
I also thought it would make me a better writer. Contrary to belief, it made me numb and distorted. I couldn’t write, I could only drool and listen to a million different songs on Spotify as my eyes rolled back.
When I write, I’m usually able to imagine vivid imagery, recall sounds. I can write 15-line poems in under a minute and not know what I’ve said until I go back and read it. But on Addy — zip. Zero.
Nothing. It completely stifled my “creativity.” (←LOL…)
These are very dumb decisions, and the obvious iconic movies, artists and models that glorified amphetamines and triggered me to experiment are not the ones to blame. I am the one to blame. I am the one who went to the psychiatrist (dealer) who’s been writing me scrips of several different meds since I was 11. I was the one who quickly ran up the stairs with a scissor and straw to my bathroom floor while my mom was watching Ellen, unable to notice. I was the one texting older, more experienced friends to help me.
“Yo. Just fold a paper with the balls from inside the capsule and use the bottom of a Coke can to crush them up…”
I was the one coming down and crying, dumping them down the toilet, so I didn’t do the whole bottle.
Do I regret the times I’ve done drugs? No, because I had a 5-star vacation and I deserved to feel that way and get the break from my own sensitivities. It’s the same reason why so many people my age hide away their problems, drunk in clubs. I just got my escape in the own comfort of my bedroom, via my local pharmacy.
I’m just too in love with my colorful, sober brain to ever live with the quietness of intoxication.
I just couldn’t ever become addicted to something so hollow. Being high took away all the emotion and my romanticism for human nature, the world and people around me.
How the fuck is a writer supposed to write without feeling everything x 100?
Nobody was forcing me with a gun to my head to do what I thought was something glamorous.
Pop culture didn’t trigger me.
I triggered myself.
America seems to have a fascination with college, and not just college in general nowadays, but with “elite” colleges. Yes, I know that the Ivy League has given us a boatload of presidents and CEOS, actors and actresses – all that good, famous stuff. Don’t get me wrong, if you can get into an Ivy League, good for you, but I also think that there are a lot of other colleges that deserve as much praise and respect as Harvard and Yale.
On that note, I truly think that the schools of the Big 10 are some of the best. Sure, I’m a little biased as a Wisconsin grad, but I know that the education I got there was amazing and the experiences I had outside of class were just as awesome. The Big 10 has some of the coolest, well-rounded alumni and attendees. Here’s a list, in no particular order, of just some of the coolest people to have ever come out of the Big 10 (both graduates and dropouts – I don’t discriminate):
1. Mark Cuban (Indiana) – Besides being an Indiana business school grad and the charismatic owner of the Dallas Mavericks, Mark Cuban is also the sole reason why I watch Shark Tank on ABC.
2. Suze Orman (Illinois) – Suze Orman is crazy enthusiastic about personal finances, which seems kind of like an oxymoron, but the Illinois grad has made a very successful career out of it.
3. Neil Armstrong (Purdue) – First guy to walk on the moon, enough said.
4. Gerald Ford (Michigan) – The man who would later replace Nixon as the President of the United States attended Michigan where he also played football. Ford was so good that he was even named MVP for their 1934 team.
5. Jesse Owens (Ohio State) – Also known as the “Buckeye Bullet,” Owens single-handedly gave Hitler and his idea of the “Aryan master race” the most awesome middle finger at the 1936 Olympics in Berlin when he won four gold medals in track and field.
6. Jessica Lange (Minnesota) – Before her work on American Horror Story and the two Academy Awards she won for acting, Jessica Lange was a student at the University of Minnesota.
7. John Muir (Wisconsin) – The Scottish-born “Father of the National Parks” took his first botany class as an undergrad sitting beneath a black locust tree at the University of Wisconsin-Madison.
8. Magic Johnson (Michigan State) – Magic Johnson, AIDS activist and one of the greatest basketball players, first gained fame when he led his Michigan Spartans to an NCAA title in 1979 over Larry Bird’s Indiana State.
9. Tennessee Williams (Iowa) – One of the greatest American Playwrights, Williams graduated with a degree in English from Iowa and then went on to gave us such classics as A Streetcar Named Desire and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.
10. Warren Buffett (Nebraska) – Buffet is one of the richest men in the world and also one of the coolest after declaring that he will donate 99% of his wealth to charity. Oh yeah, and this guy got rejected from Harvard, but it’s okay, we all make mistakes.
11. Stephen Colbert (Northwestern) – While the fictional character Stephen Colbert of The Colbert Report went to Dartmouth, the real Stephen Colbert graduated from Northwestern class of ’86.
12. Michael P. Murphy (Penn State) – You’ve probably not heard of Michael P. Murphy, but you should. He was a Navy SEAL and the first person awarded the Medal of Honor for the War in Afghanistan and the first to win the award since the Vietnam War.
13. Drew Brees (Purdue) – One of the most well-liked and talented guys in the NFL, the Saints QB and XLIV Super Bowl MVP was born and raised in Texas, but played for and graduated from Purdue.
14. Herb Brooks and the majority of the 1980 Men’s Olympic Hockey Team (Minnesota) – Hailed as one of the greatest moments in American sports history, the Miracle on Ice was amazingly won by a team comprised solely of American college hockey players.
15. Leslie Knope (Indiana) – Founder of Galentine’s Day and lover of waffles, Leslie Knope of Parks and Recreation graduated from Indiana summa cum laude. Sure, she’s a fictional character but that doesn’t make her any less awesome.
16. Michael Phelps (Michigan) – Besides a lucrative career as a Subway spokesperson, Michael Phelps also happens to hold pretty much every single Olympic record when it comes to medals, specifically the gold kind.
17. Anyone playing in the NFL who went to Ohio State and says “THE Ohio State University” when they’re doing their introductions (Ohio State) – That’s just badass.
18. Bob Dylan (Minnesota) – Dylan is one of the greatest songwriters of all time and came onto the folk music scene while studying at the University of Minnesota.
19. Ang Lee (Illinois) – Before winning multiple Academy Awards for Best Director, Taiwanese-born Lee moved to the States and subsequently earned a bachelor’s degree in theatre at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign.
20. Coleen Rowley (Iowa) – A former FBI agent and a 9/11 whistleblower who shared TIME’s Person of the Year in 2002, Rowley received her JD from the University of Iowa’s Law School.
21. Anders Holm (Wisconsin) – The Workaholics star and most recent UW graduation speaker was also on the swim team while he was getting weird at Wisconsin.
22. Cindy Crawford (Northwestern) – Cindy earned an academic scholarship to study chemical engineering at Northwestern, but dropped out after a semester to pursue a modeling career, which, you know, turned out pretty well.
23. Chris Hansen (Michigan State) – Before he was Chris “no hug for me?” Hanson on To Catch A Predator, he studied at Michigan State and worked for the NBC Lansing affiliate his senior year of college.
24. John J. Pershing (Nebraska) – The only man to be appointed General of the Armies of the United States, a.k.a. the highest possible rank in the U.S. Army, in his lifetime not only attended Nebraska for law school, but also taught there.
25. David Bohm (Penn State) – Bohm was a quantum physicist who graduated from Penn State with a degree in Physics. Oh yeah, and he is often regarded as one of the greatest theoretical physicists of the 20th century.
Bonus – In honor of the two teams joining the Big 10 in 2014. Sure, it’s kind of a touchy subject for us, but we’re an inclusive bunch. Promise.
Liz Lemon (Maryland) – According to her character bio, Liz obtained a partial competitive jazz dance scholarship to the University of Maryland.
Junot Díaz (Rutgers) – A Pulitzer Prize winner and a MacArthur Fellow, the Dominican-born Díaz graduated from Rutgers with a degree in English, i.e. he’s a very accomplished guy.
Feel free to also add your favorite Big 10 alumni; like I said, I know there are tons, so keep ‘em coming.
I shall rename thee Dick. I got drunk with you and a friend one night. Apparently you hinted that the friend should go home, but I didn’t notice. I was too drunk to drive home, so you easily convinced me that it was best to stay at your place until I was sober. You told me that your bed was more comfortable than the living room couch, so I promised to stay on my side of your queen mattress. Then you told me that the air conditioning in your room didn’t work very well, so I might as well take my shirt off to deal with the warmth. All of this logic made sense to drunk me. We had kissed a couple of times before, but the lack of mutual attraction was apparent. Before I knew it, you were trying to cuddle with me and kiss me. I said I didn’t want to hook up. We were both getting over other people, and I didn’t like you like that. Then stuff happened anyway. To say it was non-consensual isn’t quite true, but I certainly wasn’t expressing enthusiastic consent. So I lost my virginity that night, and our friendship changed forever. At least we can joke about it. Regardless, you will always be Dick to me.
Or more appropriately, Humpy. There was absolutely no foreplay involved; you just went straight to “the fun part.” Actually, I remember that you tried to kiss me at some point, but it was awful. I can’t tell if you went for a sexy lip bite or were really just that bad at kissing, but the left side of my bottom lip was bruised for a week. I think it had been a while for both of us, but the sex was just bad. You jackhammered me into oblivion, hoping that things might get better with more speed and effort. They didn’t. Then you asked me to finish you with my mouth (probably because you realized trying to get me to finish first wasn’t happening; my vagina couldn’t feel anything anymore). When I went down on you, my nostrils came upon the most hideous of stenches. I mean, truly awful. Something died in your pants when you weren’t looking. I tried really hard not to let my face show it, but it was all I could do not to vomit mid-blowjob. In an effort to control this overwhelming gag reflex and general disgust, my tear ducts decided to scream in protest. Trust me, I wasn’t crying with joy over getting to suck your dick. But I pulled through, swallowed like a champ, and then pretended that my room didn’t smell like the dead thing hiding in your clothes. You stayed in my bed with me that night because you were drunk and I felt bad, but I was not about to have sex with you again. I was up and in the shower at 6:30 the next morning despite my massive hangover. Never again, Humpy.
I messaged you on OkCupid, and you agreed that we should meet up. You seemed so genuinely overjoyed in all your photos, and I thought some optimism might be a good addition to my life. We chatted for about an hour and then decided to switch bars. But instead of going to another bar, you grabbed my hand and pulled me in for a kiss. Sappy, yes, but totally sweet. Then you happily led me to your car and then drove me to your hotel room, smiling all the way. You playfully threw me onto the bed and cheerfully kissed me. I’m excited to see you again, Happy.
Your penis, that is. Apparently, you had watched so much porn while you were single, that you couldn’t get it up with me. Maybe I will call you Droopy. But you promised that it wasn’t me, and so we worked really hard to get things to be hard. That really only happened once when we were having breakup sex. Since you are the one who broke up with me, I hope you are having a lot more sex. With yourself. And your porn. Because an eternally droopy penis would be wonderful karma.
This was an awful night. I understand that making the first move is scary, so I took care of that. However, sometimes I like to be the passenger and not the driver. That just wasn’t a possibility with you, Bashful. I know it wasn’t your first time, so I wish you had relaxed a bit. You tried so hard to please me, but in your desperation to do so, you went soft. But you didn’t let that deter you! You kept right on trying to jam your flaccid self into me. I suggested that we stop, and I thought you were going to cry. You tried to give yourself a pep talk, and it was painful to listen to. You tried a second time, and I really wanted you to succeed, but it just wasn’t happening. We decided to just sleep. Then you were afraid to hold me, so you just let your arm hover over me awkwardly until I said something. Were you planning to just stay like that until you fell asleep and your arm dropped into place? I don’t know what that was about. Once I gave you permission to put your arm around me, you repeatedly scooted closer until you had scooted both of us to the very edge of the bed. I don’t mind some spooning, but pushing me off the bed wasn’t cool. I asked you to please scoot back, which only started the awkward arm hovering again. Ugh. I’m sorry I didn’t ever text you back after that night, but I am still haunted by the memory of those hours.
Although you did have a very mild case of the sniffles, I think Sleazy is a more appropriate name. But I don’t mean that in a negative way at all. I liked our little fling together quite a bit. We met at a black tie event. You looked great in that tux. We were randomly seated at the same table and made pleasant small talk. I laughed at all of your jokes, and you gracefully broke the touch barrier when you lightly held my arm to whisper something to me. I had to turn my chair slightly to see when the dinner’s speaker took the stage, and we ended up slightly closer than before. Somehow our fingers brushed in between rounds of applause, and then they just stayed there. I liked holding your hand under the table. We were in the presence of three Supreme Court justices, two Senators, and you were still holding my hand secretly. It was exhilarating. Since I had a room in the hotel of the event, we decided to sneak away before the reception. You calmly walked with me toward the elevator, ignoring that fact that you were supposed to be mingling with the important people. I was trying not to grin too stupidly. The instant the elevator door closed, you pressed me against the mirror and kissed me until we reached the top floor. You were now wearing my lipstick, but you didn’t seem to mind at all. I had a lot of fun with you. Forty-five minutes of pure fun. We finally decided we had to go back to the reception, but you struggled to redo your bowtie. I’d never been with a guy who wore an actual bowtie. Watching you fight with it was pretty hot, despite how much it was stressing you out. I reapplied my lipstick, and we held hands in the elevator back down, carefully staggering our entrances to the reception. It was a glorious secret that will always make me smile.
You are a bit of a pothead, but Gropey would also be appropriate here. The first time you kissed me, I was completely stunned for about three whole seconds before pulling away. Later retellings of this story prompted my friends to create a chant that went “[YOUR LAST NAME] ATTACK! *clap clap* push him back.” But I liked kissing you, and even though you moved away that day, we started talking more. During one of your visits, you took me to dinner. You asked if I would let you sleep on my couch that night, and thinking I was helping a friend in need, I obliged. But when we got to my room later, you just kept trying to hook up with me. I felt bad that you had paid for dinner with the expectation of sexual favors later, but when you sent me a long message the next day apologizing for your advances, I knew you didn’t mean it that way. We talked more and became even better friends and slept together for the first time a month later. You were the first person I had been with since Dick, who had left me kind of scared, and you were understanding. Sex with you was comfortable. We both knew it didn’t mean more, but we still developed an incredibly complicated and profound friend love for one another. We would never actually date and it’s been a while since I’ve seen you, but I still consider you one of my closest friends.
Print books are increasingly going the way of the dodo bird, the passenger pigeon, and the Miss Congeniality franchise. This is scary. Here are a few reasons why we should make sure that never happens:
1. E-books do not allow for the cultivation of a physical book library. And if you can’t show off the fact that you have a personal library, there’s little point to actually reading.
2. If the book in question is a textbook or required reading for school, you get to underline random phrases and hilariously convince the person taking the class next year that you’re much smarter than them.
3. Books are a journey. Some books are even about the 1980′s rock band, Journey. But with an e-book, you’re always on the same page. Which in addition to being a very annoying buzzword phrase, compromises any tangible notion of your intellectual voyage.
4. Bookstores that sell books are good places to trick people of the opposite sex into thinking that you’re a keeper.
5. There is probably 5-10 people living in Brooklyn who make a living off being “bookmark artists.” The further we move towards e-books, the more annoying their kickstarter campaigns for new business ventures will become.
6. Fresh books smell good. Library books smell like the room in your grandparent’s house that someone may have died in. But nonetheless, smells adds character.
7. Carrying around a hardcover books somewhat legitimizes current fashion trends, like thick-rimmed glasses and barely used moleskin notebooks.
8. Conversations about print books make it easier to incorporate the word “vintage” into your conversation.
9. Reading books in print means you can also let your friends borrow books in print, which is a great way for every friendship to reach it’s true, passive-aggressive potential.
10. Print books afford you the opportunity to do that thing where you flip all the pages rapid-fire with your thumb for no reason other than the fact that it feels pretty awesome.
11. People who read print books have free reign to say the word “unplugged.” Since the year 2010, this has officially become a synonym for superiority.
12. Old-timey books sometimes have latin phrases on them. Somewhat useless, but definitely adds some gravitas.
13. Book jackets are a thing you could take off and then ask everyone else if they’ve seen it lying around. Doesn’t sound like a benefit, but the artwork on the Harry Potter ones are cool.
14. Accidentally dropping a whole bunch of books seems like a great way to eventually get married.
15. You don’t need Wifi.
16. Shutting off a kindle doesn’t have quite the same satisfying feeling as closing a book.
17. The end.