Human cannonballs versus Irish divorce referendums: today's TERRIBLE advice
FB’s “TERRIBLE advice” group births GLORIOUS creative chaos. It’s funky. It’s fab. It ups life’s Good Bits. Do try some:
Brittany asks
My Nana passed away on Valentine's Day, my parents may be getting a divorce and my girlfriend is in a slump and I feel helpless because I can't make her feel better. I'm depressed AF but hiding it from everyone, what do?
Be creative I need to laugh so bad.
Also for the love of glob please no "I'm sorry for your loss" or "my condolences" I can't take any more.
My answer
Ohh, one of these situations, eh? I've got no idea which country you live in, but for the purposes of this Very Bad Advice, I've decided you live in Ireland. I'll get to why in a sec. I've also decided that, apart from their stance on divorce, your parents are incredibly Catholic.
Happens more often than you might think! So here's my standard divorce-trouncing advice:
Show your girlfriend a blindfold. Tell her you've got a "surprise" for her, waggle your eyebrows lasciviously, all that usual good stuff. Once blindfolded, lead her by the hand to a cramped interior space. Location One.
Next, invite your two divorcing parents to some kind of outdoorsy lookout place, top of a cliff, gorgeous view, blah de blah. Location Two. Tell them your conscience has been bleating at you 24/7 re their unconscionable and underhanded Divorce nonsense. Tell them you've thus prepared a special Treat for them, at exactly 2pm that afternoon.
Third, abduct your Nana's corpse and cram it into a colossal cannon, designed to kapow its occupant phenomenal distances. Before you squidge her cadaver into the gun's breach, though, tie a cape of incredible length around her ankles. It's got a massive motto written along it, I'll reveal its wording in due course. The idea is that when fired, the tumbling airborne corpse will trail the cape and its lettering behind, in a vast parabolic arc.
Fourth, return to your girlfriend in her cramped Location One. Placate her whingings of "I've been cooped up in here for hours you bastard" etc., with promises that her worries will be at an end in mere seconds. Tie a second ginormous cape around her ankles, with a second motto, then whip off her blindfold. Just as she realises you've imprisoned her in a second identical colossal cannon, slam the breach door shut.
Fifth: if you've timed things right, your parents' 2pm deadline will be upon you in seconds. Fire the cannons!
Their payloads soar skyward! If you'd aimed them correctly, your parents should be treated to a delightful vista of your Nana's incredibly deceased and putrefying corpse colliding in mid-air against your girlfriend's incredibly recently-alive and furious body with a sickening splunch, mere metres from your parents' astonished faces.
If you've aimed and timed both guns just right, they'll both be showered with gangrening body parts, accompanying their former relatives' twin capes and twin mottos now jerked to a near-stop, and flapping airborne before them.
The first reads: IRELAND'S FIFTEENTH AMENDMENT* REPEALED; IRISH DIVORCE ILLEGAL AGAIN HA HA HA
The second reads: MR/MRS BRITTANY'S PARENTS, BEHOLD THE CHURCH'S STANCE ON NASSSSTY DIVORCEES: WANT TO SHARE THEIR FATE?
Problems solved! Your Nana's body has been put to excellent use; your girlfriend perished doing what you love; and your parents have been informed on no uncertain terms that living in Ireland means nonconsensual domestic tranquility thereafter. Isn't life grand?
* For those who don't know, until 1995, Irish law actually considered divorce illegal: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fifteenth_Amendment_...
Original: https://mikeyclarke.co.nz/blog/2022/2/human-cannonballs-versus-irish-divorce-referendums-todays-terrible-advice
Hungry for more?
Bullshit Hors D’oeuvres: TERRIBLE ADVICE posts
Enjoy this snazzy sampling of hintCLICKABLEhint crowd-pleasers:
FABIO: betas and twinks and supple squishy femme-b0is: the microplastics to my asbestos, yet here’s why we MUST nourish ALL raunch appetites:
“The comparison of 'supple squishy femme-b0is' being the microplastics to Fabio’s asbestos is top-tier. You’ve captured that exact point where the 'overlords' just swapped one extreme for another and called it progress. I respect the call for a world where there’s 'oodles of room' for all appetites ... I’m locking into your frequency because it’s rare to find this much grit and humor in the same room.”
On rejuvenating shite grub into exquisite ambrosia by guzzling pints of 800C+ molten salt: today's TERRIBLE advice
“I have absolutely no idea where your brain comes up with this stuff, but it gave me a laugh. Lol!”
A goddess so magnificent melts before MOI? I'm phenomenal! Plus further ego-stroking manipulative bullshit: today's TERRIBLE advice
“What makes this funny is that beneath all the ridiculousness, there's a grain of truth hiding in there. Not about sleeping with your boyfriend's father, obviously, but about how often people justify behavior by appealing to someone else's ego, blind spots, or assumptions.”
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.
Bullshit Emeritus: YOUR TURN
Fancy some boutique TERRIBLE advice of your own? Comment your question or dilemma, and I’ll magic up something deliciously wicked to put a smile on your face, just for you. You put yummy in my tummy, you know that?