American road surfaces are grotesque quivering jellyfish
Here’s a rare non-TERRIBLE-advice post. Yes I sometimes write them, you friggin’ numpty:
Aha. A mind worm has been hooked. A pungent brain fart has received the lit match of enlightenment. It's been over two years and it's finally occurred to me what American road surfaces remind me of. They remind me of jellyfish.
Here's what the hell I'm talking about. Here's a typical New Zealand road:
It's surfaced with asphalt. It's my normal. I might look at that and think "yeah that's a road".
And here's a typical USA road:
It's surfaced with concrete. I look at that and stand perplexed at its albino-ness.
But different strokes for different folks, right? Is this really such a big deal? Nah, not really. Takes all sorts to make a world. But when I was in California a couple of years ago, this gnawed at me. For the life of me I could not figure out why. The paleness reminded me of something. No idea what.
And ten minutes ago it hit me. You get all kinds of fantastic creepy-crawlies in caves, and in deep ocean, and in places where the light of day seldom penetrates. You get nocturnal eldritch horrors, with soft milky hides, and tremulous weepy underbellies, they wobble, they fright, they quiver, they squirm, they slap you with tentacles and slime and horrible beaks and chitin and attempt strangulation and drip horrid ectoplasm upon your perineum. The Grotesques of the deep.
That's honestly the vibe I get from American roads. They're too pale! They're underbaked!
Then again, I hear this is the same vibe a ton of darker-skinned peoples and cultures worldwide experience towards ethnicities like moi.
They've got a point. I get sunburned from fireworks.
Original: https://mikeyclarke.co.nz/blog/2022/1/american-road-surfaces-are-grotesque-quivering-jellyfish
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Bullshit Hors D’oeuvres: TERRIBLE ADVICE posts
Enjoy this snazzy sampling of hintCLICKABLEhint crowd-pleasers:
On charging oil barons through the nose as a human drill bit: today's TERRIBLE advice
“Hahahaha. Thank for this advice, Mikey. Keep those Terrible Advices coming. Happy writing. Enjoyed reading this column of yours. 🙂😁”
On scheming bitches, Antarctic science side quests, extra-gorgeous ponies, and the Zodiac Killer: today's TERRIBLE advice
“I found this a very humorous piece yet it still had insights to serious modern day topics within the scope of relationships. Beautiful work man!”
The earthy wisdom of elongating your womb into adjacent postcodes: today's TERRIBLE advice
“At some point the advice stops being advice…and just becomes a ride. And honestly, that’s the fun of it. You show up for help....and leave with absolutely none… but somehow still satisfied. Thanks for getting me to giggle! 😂😂😂😂”
Bullshit Banquet: the SEXYVERSE NOVELS
*ahem*
IN A WORLD where wars are fought with romance and flirting and delicious erotic TENSION, the rivalries throbbing between history’s Great Powers have become a BUTTLOAD more bubbly, with fewer hideous massacres of musket and cannon, and OODLES more frisky cunnilingus contests:
The Sex Commandos Thwart The Third Vaginal Apocalypse
Part One: The Knights Of Raw Phwoar
Might Earth’s free nations drown under terrifying tornadoes of French femme-foam? Like hell, shout Britain’s Royal Marines Sex Commandos. Let’s assassinate France’s Imperatrix Brigitte Bardot! Come on. What’s the worst that could happen?
Part Two: The Soviet Sluts Superb
Turns out out-flirting Imperatrix Bardot is like trying to wank off Mt. Blanc when it’s wanking you back. Plan B: skedaddle, regroup, out-flirt the entirety of France and get loads more practice, then it’s stealthy-sneaky Round Two or bust.
Part Three: The Cervical Supremacy
Turns out flirting with every ladybro Rambo in France produces Rivals and Frenemies and Jilted Waifus galore. Smashing fun, but utter Kryptonite for Imperial kill-plans. Like, ever tried noshing off a world leader whilst a billion fanb0is fondle your buttocks? Want to? Read on!
Part Four: The Praetorian Prostitutes
The game’s up! The irresistible force of fanb0i-fondlemania has headbutted the immovable object of a gazillion furious Paris cops. They too thirst for Sex Commando patoot. Crunch time. Either launch one final rocket-strike against Bardot and France, or Earth’s free nations forever perish.
Part Five: [soon, baby]
Click these and enjoy these and your appetites will be SATISFIED.