Wormtongues to the horizon, and other mortician immersion therapy tactics: 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:
Shan asks
I am starting my new career as a mortician after Christmas. What are some tips to help me ease in to the new job and calm my nerves a little?
My answer
I hear immersion therapy works wonders. Drench yourself in DEATH DEATH DEATH and you'll be right as rain. Simply teleport into Middle-Earth, cosplay as Eowyn, then sneak into the Rohirrim's ginormous cavalry charge during the Battle of Pelennor Fields, the one where six thousand Rohirrin all scream DEATH to psyche themselves up. If you read the books, you discover they all continue screaming DEATH mid-charge too. Fun for the whole family.
Though it's a bit too obvious, right? If you're doing this, maybe other morticians are too. Now you've got me wondering just what percentage of the Rohirrim were modern-day morticians incognito. It'd explain a fair few things about Rohan, like how that slimy creep Wormtongue was able to operate at large among them without standing out, and get away with corrupting Theoden for so long. He's got that stench of professional death about him. He ... actually come to think of it, he genuinely does box-tick so many hilarious mortician stereotypes. Say, you're not Wormtongue yourself, are you?
Original: https://mikeyclarke.co.nz/blog/2021/12/wormtongues-to-the-horizon-and-other-mortician-immersion-therapy-tactics-todays-terrible-advice
Hungry for more?
Bullshit Hors D’oeuvres: TERRIBLE ADVICE posts
Enjoy this snazzy sampling of hintCLICKABLEhint crowd-pleasers:
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! 😂😂😂😂”
On combating shoplifting accusations by dribbling lab ethanol on every breathalyser in Christendom: today's TERRIBLE advice
“Your writing is seriously entertaining! It’s like a breath of hilarious air. Thanks so much for keeping my feed funny. Yours is one of few posts I read where I actually laugh out loud 🩵”
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.
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?