The Arsenal FC Shit-Kickers, paramilitary parsnips, rectal slumber, and you glorious maniac: 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:
Tara asks
I’m at work right now and just got a message that there are a bunch of police with rifles and riot shields gathered together at the apartment complex where I live. What should I do?
My answer
Rifles AND riot shields?
Are you sure? That's one hell of a Fuzz kit mismatch!
Riot shields are for, y'know, police. Keeping public order and defending citizenry. Even rioters. Rioters are citizens too, you know. They're neighbours. Locals! No doubt they're intimately acquainted with each others' armpits.
Rifles, however, are for soldiers. Soldiers are for winning wars and for pulverising their nation's enemies. They thirst for the savage destruction of exotic foreign fucking scum.
So you get very few situations indeed where (1) the same personnel are tasked and equipped with facing off against both adversaries at once, and (2) where those personnels' management suspect both groups of appearing at the same location, at the same time. Geez, dude! What the hell's going on at your apartment complex? What could ever make them suspect this? What kind of horrid exotic soothsaying are your kind cooking up in there?
I can admittedly think of a few scenarios. One that leaps to mind is extra-volcanic football hooligans. From a distance they're rad. Close up, they're friggin' insane. You often get the staunchest football-club supporters travelling with their teams to Away games, then picking fights with local Fuzz, just to prove how Hardcore and Gnarly and Macho they are. Have you just been caught subleasing your apartment complex to the Arsenal FC Shit-Kickers? You have, haven't you. You glorious maniac. If we were neighbours I'd probably hate your guts for disturbing my rectal slumber, but in honesty, I think the world needs more dynamic nutjobs like yours truly to add a bit of spice back into our lives.
You say you "just got a message" about these paramilitary parsnips congregating outside your footy safe house? Who messaged you? Who are you replying to? Your hooligan comrades or the Filth? I ask because, depending on your deathwish addiction, your reply may be either:
"Right on, my fellow aficionados of The Beautiful Game, let's crush these authoritarian jackbootlickers in a classic pincer: you lot explode from our apartment complex's front gates, and I'll ram their behinds from behind!"
~~ or ~~
"At last we've cornered these loathsome footy scum in a bloody horrid apartment complex, god, what kind of oik could ever slum it here, the very thought makes me retch, but come on now: you noble defenders of the public interest smash down the front doors and give them a taste of civic spunk, and I'll be right behind you, honest!"
Original: https://mikeyclarke.co.nz/blog/2026/3/the-arsenal-fc-shit-kickers-paramilitary-parsnips-rectal-slumber-and-you-glorious-maniac-todays-terrible-advice
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Bullshit Hors D’oeuvres: TERRIBLE ADVICE posts
Enjoy this snazzy sampling of hintCLICKABLEhint crowd-pleasers:
On conscripting lesbian bitches and gay male dogs through Pray-The-Gay-Away camps for rich entitled floozies: today's TERRIBLE advice
“This was gloriously unhinged from start to finish. 😂 The absurd escalation from "gay dogs" to "cats caused by conversion camps" had me laughing because it never pretended to be anything but satire. Underneath the chaos, though, there's a sharp jab at the ridiculousness of trying to "fix" someone's identity. The humor is outrageous, but the point lands. Looking forward to reading more of your beautifully deranged "Terrible Advice."”
Mt. Doom vs Chernobyl, billions of twitchy-schnozzed squirrels, and ceramic/asbestos rigor mortis: today’s TERRIBLE advice
“There is a radical sovereignty in embracing this kind of creative chaos. While the rest of the world is looking for sanitized, "perfect" advice, you are documenting the anatomy of a "fabulous" sort of madness. Using a squirrel in a crosshair as the visual anchor for a post about "Terrible Advice" is a bold move—it’s like a warning and a celebration all at once. It takes a certain level of grit and a total shuttering of the ego to find the "fab" in a ceramic/asbestos rigor mortis situation.”
Mt. Doom vs Chernobyl, billions of twitchy-schnozzed squirrels, and ceramic/asbestos rigor mortis: today’s TERRIBLE advice
“There is a radical sovereignty in embracing this kind of creative chaos. While the rest of the world is looking for sanitized, "perfect" advice, you are documenting the anatomy of a "fabulous" sort of madness.”
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?