An Open Letter To The Virgin Outside Of Starbucks

Hello there,

What are you, a unicorn? I haven’t encountered a virgin since I last attended church about eight years ago. Why did I just overhear you stating your virginity? And better yet, why are you telling it to the guy sitting across the table from you? I can see his eyes lighting up like he just won the jackpot. I think you’re in trouble. Should I call a cop to escort you to your virgin home, or do you have a big, virgin watch dog? I’m just looking out for you, homie. Do you people even use that term? I’m trying to relate to you, but it’s very hard. I’m nervous. You’re making me very nervous for some reason. Wow, I just can’t believe what I’m seeing right now. This is so rare that I feel like I’m staring at Jesus Christ.

I still have no idea why you’re declaring your virginity on the Starbucks patio. Are you on a date? If you are, precious leprechaun, that guy’s number one objective is to get the prize at the end of the rainbow. That prize is your pot o’ virginity. If you let that happen you will become a boring old slut like the rest of us, so keep that in mind. Right now you’re a treasure. People have maps and telescopes and have to sail around the world to find you. Don’t take that for granted.

But maybe this isn’t the case at all. Maybe you’re a liar. After all, virgins don’t admit to being virgins, do they? I went to high school once. The people there would rather be sucked into a vortex than admit to their virginity. The world is a very fucked up and sexual place, and I have a hard time believing that you aren’t a part of it. If this were Occupy Starbucks you’d be the 1%, and I don’t think the 1% goes to Starbucks. They send their butler, or in your case their chastity belt.

I know this is a long shot, but I really hope that you are a virgin. It would be incredible to pick your brain. I’m so curious to know how you live. You’re an alien to me.


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