The comedic en-womb-ification of billion-$$$ cocaine empires: 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:
Kevin asks
I just found 5 empty bottles of beer in my 15yo daughters bed, hidden under the comforter (Wed is sheets day for laundry). foundShe is at school still but will be home soon. What do?
My answer
To her empties-collection, add the following:
Another ten bottles; various other drug paraphernalia; paperwork incriminating her in organising a massive drug-running ring; plus of course a fake passport for Pablo Escobar. Then accuse her of always having been Pablo Escobar.
Surprisingly plausible: his drug-running empire was a work of genius. You reckon he couldn't have operated his empire whilst being in the form of only a sperm and an egg, for countless years apart, and then as a developing embryo? 'Course he could, he's just that expert. Happens all the time.
You'd be amazed how many women undergo conventional pregnancies and genuinely not notice emanating from multiple orifices the everyday nitty-gritties of drug empires: huge snaking nests of telephone lines, other comms, drug mule management, police dawn raids, corrupt senators, even the occasional submarine, plus all kinds of other hilarious crap, for weeks and weeks and months and months.
Or they totally do but they're genuinely cool with it. Most ladies I dated back in university were and are chill, fab gals, and typically considered their inadvertent en-womb-ing of these colossal multi-billion-dollar cocaine empires a tremendous laugh. Gotta kill time somehow, you know?
Original: https://mikeyclarke.co.nz/blog/2022/5/the-comedic-en-womb-ification-of-billion-cocaine-empires-todays-terrible-advice
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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 scheming bitches, Antarctic science side quests, extra-gorgeous ponies, and the Zodiac Killer: today's TERRIBLE advice
“this was so clever and hysterical, especially like the South pole as a wedding venue so your marriage literally can't go south. funny shit!!! subscribed!”
On scheming bitches, Antarctic science side quests, extra-gorgeous ponies, and the Zodiac Killer: today's TERRIBLE advice
“Hoooollllyyyy shit Mikey! The transition from "your husband might be keeping secrets" to "maybe she's running a wedding-vow-renewal side hustle at the South Pole" was so fucking wild that by the end I was fully invested in the horse conspiracy. 😂😂😂😂😂😂”
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?