Speaker 1: Thank you, thank you. I am Vivia Volupta, your psychic
no at all erotic cult leader. I don't read palms,
I read energy, libido and the way you text what
you do in at two am. Let's profile some humans,
shall we? Let's start with the basics. Men, or as
I call them, emotional escape rooms with a dick attached.
You ever meet a man and immediately feel your inner
goddess go no, but for science? Okay? Men think they're mysterious. No, baby,
you're not mysterious. You're just calculative, obsessive, and think being
emotionally unavailable as the same as being deep. You're not
giving James Bond, You're giving guy who stalks his ex's
venmo activity and thinks that counts as closure. You want
to be right all the time. You want to win
the argument, and God forbid you admit you're wrong. That
little alpha switch in your brain would rather let the
relationship implode than say the words I'm sorry, babe, I
was being a dick. Now, look a guy who actually
knows how to play the mystery card. That's a good con.
He gives just enough makes you Chase disappears into the
night like he has a secret. Turns out it's just
two kids in a court date. But still it was
sexy for a while. But most men try to be
mysterious by just being quiet, just saying no, and it
works for a minute. Women are like, Ooh, he's so deep,
he's so chill, He's like emotionally zen, noasis, He's just
silently processing one thought boobs. Eventually you're like, why don't
we talk anymore? And he's like, we do. I said
sup this morning and looked in your direction. But then
there are the talking guys, ah my god, the oversharers,
the walking Reddit threads and joggers. The man who thinks
communication is key and then proceeds to talk about himself
for forty six straight minutes. He'll be like, yeah, my
last relationship ended because she didn't support my twitch stream Sir,
that's not trauma, that's just failure with Wi fi. He
thinks being in emotionally available means crying on the first
date and explaining his attachment style before the appetizers arrive,
like I'm a fearful avoidant Gemini with a capricorn moon
and my mom didn't hug me enough. Cool. I asked
what kind of wine you wanted, so men mysterious or mouthy.
Either way, you're exhausting to the overly entitled, overly expectant
women who are waiting desperately for more from you. You're
either not speaking at all or treating dinner like a
fucking ted talk with no Q and a pick a
lane king. Be silent and sexy or talkative and therapized,
but for the love of estrogen, don't do both badly. Psychically,
I read men like expired milk. If his cologne is
too strong, he's hiding childhood trauma and probably thinks crying
is gay. You can tell everything about a man from
his Spotify rapped. If it's all Joe Rogan podcasts and
eightm run, that man's idea of romance is let's split
a red bull and trauma bond. His last five Google
searches one's about crypto, one's about how to last longer,
and the other three are just boobs. No keywords, just boobs.
How he touches the remote, if he grips it like
a grenade, that's how he handles your clit. No finesse,
just vibes and confusion. Men love to say I'm a
simple guy, No, you're not. You're emotionally constipated, addicted to
air fryers, and you think cuddling for eight seconds is intimacy.
You want a submissive woman, but you spiral when she
sends a text that says can we talk? Like, calm down, sir.
She's not leaving you. She just found your browser history
and realized you're fully capable of mature emotional conversations with chatchpt.
So now she wants in on the action. And the
worst part, every man thinks he's good in bed. No, babe,
just because you jackhammered my cervix like you were fighting
demons doesn't mean I came. It means I scheduled a chiropractor.
Men are like ikea furniture comes with instructions in forty
eight languages, missing emotional support, screws, and somehow still wants
you to sit on it after five minutes of work.
Now let's talk about women. Ha. Yes, women are emotionally gifted.
We can sense a lie, a baby mama, and a
limp future from one emoji. She'll meet you and know
your trauma before you remember it. He's like I was
just saying hi. She's like your dad left when you
were nine, didn't he. That's not intuition, that's estrogen powered
FBI with a touch of Cray Cray. Every woman has
three personalities sweetheart, sucubists, and therapist with a restraining order pending,
and we rotate based on the last three texts we
got and the temperature of the room. Now, don't get
me wrong, ladies, I love us. We're powerful, intuitive, multi
orgasmic divine beings with tits that can sense danger and
wife signals. But we are also crazy as fuck with
a debit card in a full moon. Let's talk about
women in psychics. You give a woman one breakup and
a bottle of wine, and suddenly she's talking to a
clairvoyant named Mistress Moonflower, asking will Jumaal come back? Girl?
He blocked you. Even your spiritual guides left the group chat.
You got crystals in your bra but no self respect
in your texts. You're burning sage in his name like
he's a demon. He's not haunted. He just moved on.
And can we please talk about the fact that women
are absolute trash at accepting rejection. If a man says
it's over, we hear it's over for now. He's probably
just in a masculine healing phase. No, bitch, he's in
a new relationship. He said I need and you sent
him a care package, an ultimatum, Oh, we need to
talk about this face to face text, a fifteen slide
apology power point, and a naked selfie holding a tarot deck,
like do you see the lover's card? This means something.
You ever hear a woman say, yeah, he ghosted me,
but maybe he's dead. What you're more likely to believe
he died in a tragic, freak lawnmower accident than just
admit he doesn't want you. But here's the twist, honey,
If he says no to us, he's cold, emotionally unavailable,
or has a fear of intimacy. But when we say no,
it's sacred, it's spiritual, it's a boundary. I told one
guy I'm not emotionally available right now, and then got
furious when he moved on. I was like, how dare
you heal without me? Women say I'm done forty three
times and still fuck him when he posts a Jim
selfie with emotional lighting, because at the end of the day,
women don't want closure, We want one more conversation to
see where his head is at. Girl, his head is
on someone else's tits. Move on, let's talk about men
and women from a psychic perspective, shall we. Women, we're
like psychic law enforcement. We can spot a lie from
a mile away, know when you're hiding something behind your smile,
and when we walk into a room, our vibe check
radar is instantly up. We're mentally arresting your ass for
emotional fraud before you even try to pull a fast one.
If you even look like you might be lying, we've
already solved the case, filed the paperwork, and found your
ex's number in your phone. Now, men, they're like psychic predators. Sexually,
Oh baby, men are very psychic. They can sense your
desires from across the room, like they're using sonar to
track your clit. They know how to turn you on,
flip you like a switch, and get you there without
breaking a sweat. But here's the kicker. They fall asleep
when they try to tune into everything else. You ask
them what's going on with your feelings, your past trauma?
Do you see where I'm coming from? And suddenly they're like, huh, sorry, babe,
my emotional WiFi just disconnected. It's like their psychic powers
only work in the bedroom, and when it comes to
real life connection, poof. It's like they've fallen into a
deep rem sleep while their ego takes over. Sexually, men
are gifted. They'll notice your breath change and swear they
made you see God. They're like clairvoyant voyeurs. They can
read your body better than a book, but emotionally, they
read the room like its terms and conditions. They scroll
past everything important and click. I agree. Now let's talk
about they them my absolute favorite emotional Rubik's cube. You
can't define them, and guess what, neither can the irs.
They walk in like glitter got fucked by gender theory
and I love it. You ask their sign, they say,
I'm not into astrology. I just manifest chaos. These babes
will fuck you, ghost you, then come back with a
Tarot deck and ask if your sacral chakra feels abandoned.
Dating them is like downloading a new software update every morning.
You never know what you're gonna get, but it's usually
sexy and low key illegal in Utah. You know, I
had to really sit down and think long and hard
about the whole they them thing, and baby, I finally
get it. It's not about identity, it's not about gender.
It's about arrogance. They them, who the fuck are we
talking about Beyonce's backup dancers? Like damn, are you royalty?
Are we referring to you? Or summoning you? When someone
tells me my pronouns? Are they them? I'm like, oh
my bad. I didn't realize I was speaking to an
entire collective consciousness. Should I bow? Should I tithe? It's
giving pronoun cabal. It's like talking to a small town
cult leader who thinks their orgasm controls the moon cycle. Like,
calm down, sweetie, You're not the moon goddess. You're a
TikToker who microdoses and ghosted me after sending a voice
note titled My Truth and the Confidence. Baby, it's thicker
than their thrift store fishnets. They strut in like they're
starring in a docu series called The Gender Ascension of Starchild.
I asked one of them what they do for a living.
They said, I identify. That's not a job, that's a hobby.
But here's the kicker. These new they thems. They act
like they invented and patented identity. Newsflash, Sugarplum, the real
da Thems are in Florida, retired, wearing crocs and fixing Margarita's.
They've seen war, disco and three divorces. They earned their plural.
They don't need to identify. They just show up and vibe,
and they are too wise to worry about keeping up
with the pronouns and properly addressing the new non binary
They then joneses. Back in the day, if someone said
they're coming, we panicked. It meant the government, the aliens,
or the in laws. Now it just means Jackson with
an ex'es coming over to cry during euphoria and explain
how capitalism made them polyamorous. And let's be honest, babe,
if you need a plural pronoun to feel important, then
maybe it's not gender confusion. It's just an ego problem
with good f fashion sense. I'm not judging your pronouns,
I'm judging your vibe. Because if you identify as they
but still show up emotionally unavailable, chronically late, and allergic
to accountability, then you don't need a new pronoun. You
need a fucking therapist. So to the thease them's and
the spiritual influencers formerly known as Chad. We see you,
we love you, but bitch pick a lane. Are you
a human, a vibe or a mythical creature summoned by sage,
sarcasm and sexual identity crisis ha ha ha ha, mic
drop pronouns, respected, egos, roasted so lovers, Let's face it,
Men leave you, women haunt you, and they them will
astra project into your dreams, ghost you, then send you
a link to a Google doc called why I had
to spiritually release you. In the end, we're all survivors
in our own post apocalyptic drama trauma with genitals, trying
to heal and be loved. So, whether you're a he, she, they,
or just confused but cute, remember it's not about what's
in your pants. It's about whether you can give love
freely or if you're still making people jump through hoops
for it, and whether you've learned that love isn't about
finding the right person, but about becoming the right partner.