NZ anti-mandate protest: bogans in Drizabones, chocolate-dipped bonobo placentas (this alleged-antivaxxer anti-lockdown "freedom" camp-protest-thing)
Here’s a rare non-TERRIBLE-advice post. Yes I sometimes write them, you friggin’ numpty:
This morning I was going for a run. It just so happened I found myself jogging within 2km of Parliament. And the honking began.
Honking? Ohhright, yeah, this alleged-antivaxxer anti-lockdown "freedom" camp-protest-thing. That's this protest, if you're from Star Trek and reading this centuries from now. Morbid curiosity boiled and throbbed within me. I ummed and aahed and then reasoned fuckit, why not check it out. So I jogged advancing towards this camp of theirs, just to see what the fuss was about.
Honking! So much honking! You can hear it a mile off. Tootles and parps and trumpetings, it's unrelenting. At length I made it inside. I didn't want to faff around there for too long, for if/when our next Covid outbreak kicks off, chances are this'll be its Ground Zero, so I figured, let's traipse a cheeky fly-by then high-tail it away.
But anyhoo. The camp itself honestly had the oddest one-two vibe pairing of (1) the grooviest parts of, say, Kiwiburn, with organic doohickeys, and hugs and cuddles, and bohemian hippie free love ... combined with (2) the heinous paranoias of a thousand thousand conspiracy theories.
Oh sure, there were tents selling organic popcorn, and sausage sizzles, and guitar-y waiatas, and in all likelihood boutique chocolate-dipped bonobo placentas. But don't go around thinking it was all roses. Every road within a block of Parliament was clogged with bogans in Drizabones (my impression after literally half a second's glimpsing as I ran past), crowding and frothing around their parked vehicles, and a good two thirds of these vehicles came festooned and emblazoned with signs.
So many signs. Hundreds of signs with hundreds of slogans: tyranny, vaccines, freedom, Nazis, 5G, lockdown, Jacinda, vaccines, more tyranny, don't tread on me, vaccines. It was like a studio audience for Top of the Pops: Top-40 Decepticon Special. Or like being inside https://timecube.2enp.com/.
The fact it's been absolutely pissing down for days didn't seem to dampen these peoples' spirits. This freedumb cabal may have been getting more Passchendaele-y by the hour, but it genuinely appeared convivial. If its goals and stakes weren't so grotesque, I'd actually feel tempted to pop along for a laugh and a chat. Alas.
Original: https://mikeyclarke.co.nz/blog/2022/2/nz-anti-mandate-protest-bogans-in-drizabones-chocolate-dipped-bonobo-placentas-this-alleged-antivaxxer-anti-lockdown-freedom-camp-protest-thing
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Bullshit Hors D’oeuvres: TERRIBLE ADVICE posts
Enjoy this snazzy sampling of hintCLICKABLEhint crowd-pleasers:
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.”
Today's TERRIBLE advice: I am one in Him, and He is one in Me, wink wink
“🫢🤭🫣 lol. Honestly, I'm not even gonna judge this terrible advice. I think the question was terrible as well. A terrible question, deserves a terrible advice. 😄”
Everything that's ever happened or ever will happen in the entire goddamn universe: today's TERRIBLE advice
“Mikey, this is a brilliant reminder that life isn't meant to be smoothed over. We've become addicted to the convenience of 'good' advice, but it's the terrible, messy, and absurd stuff that actually makes for a story worth telling.”
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.