These flaccid Muslim hussies give competent Muslim nutjobs a bad name: 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:
Lara asks
Okay, so there is a guy I’m into. We went from friends to kind of a FWB and we have phone seggs (had to censor lol) when we’re both in the mood. I have told him I’m into him and am hoping for something, he said that he doesn’t want a relationship with anyone since his last one ended badly (and it did tbh, I was there). But I want him to want me. How can I win him over?
My answer
No doubt you're aware of the saying "don't stick your dick in crazy". This is for the most part true. But it's a cautionary tale. We men stick our dicks where our dicks have no business being because it makes us feel so alive! In the heat of the moment, that is. 18 years of child support payments then incentivise us to broadcast our follies to the next generation(s).
Okay, here's the plan. Whilst banging out this post's first draft I got a tad carried away; this may take a while. Strap in:
Your goal is to persuade him (or more to the point, his inner visceral subconscious) that being with you will be the most tremendous, heady, thrilling adventure of both your lives. Act the part. Next time he arrives at your place, see to it that your house is strewn with a vast slushy groaning carpet of hundreds and thousands of strong, butch men, ideally gents like http://50ftcl.it/whimsical, all naked and/or nude and in a state of ecstatic swoon with woozy smiles on their faces and with your name on their lips: he'll have to step over them to gain access to you. Do your homework thoroughly enough and pleasure them rigorously enough, and when he tells them he's there to see you, they may gasp and swoon anew and worship as their god and he'll marvel at your stamina and skill and daring.
Us blokes eat that shit up, you know. While your man is actually present at your place, have vampires by the hundred try to sneak in through the windows. Fight them off with a big fuck-off shotgun loaded with silver-coated garlic. Continue until a second vast slushy groaning carpet of undead corpses buries the first vast slushy groaning strapping-men carpet. Your man will marvel and quaver at your terrifying combat prowess. A girl who fights as expertly as she fucks is self-evidently a keeper.
Thirdly and most grandly, set his obviously fucking inane relationship concerns completely at ease by officiating the most colossal wedding this side of the Himalayas. Take a leaf out of the 1850s Taiping Rebellion leader Hong Xiuquan's book (famous for baptising his millions of newly converted Chinese Christians with a firehose, https://www.catholicworldreport.com/.../on-the-trinity.../) by assassinating the Pope, rigging the next Papal elections, becoming Pope yourself, commandeering the Tokyo Fire Department (biggest in the world yo), yoinking their helicopter fleet, brandishing your Papal powers to bless their monsoon buckets and make their watery cargo holy, flying to Mecca, then drenching the regular annual 2.5 million-strong Hajj crowd with some nice wholesome Catholic holy watery marriage. Announce to the Muslimmy crowd from your airborne Tokyo steeds that all the men are now married to each other, and the women are all married to each other too. They shouldn't worry their pretty little heads about fripperies like Consent, either, you've just invoked Papal Infallibility and sorted that for them. There, done. You've together struck a wondrous blow for polyamory; given Tokyo's firefighters a good workout; made great strides for gay marriage equality; and made 2.5 million new Catholic converts. The conservative (ex!)-Muslim crowd will be ever so pleased.
But most importantly of all, you've at last convinced your beloved that no-one on Earth is more exquisitely expert at relationships and love and marriage than you. Propose. What fool wouldn't say yes? Now consummate your marriage right at the top of the pointy bit on Caligula's Obelisk in Vatican City. Play your cards right and you could topple the Obelisk onto the first waves of rampaging and vengeful Muslim hordes just as you both orgasm.
Original: https://mikeyclarke.co.nz/blog/2021/12/these-flaccid-muslim-hussies-give-competent-muslim-nutjobs-a-bad-name-todays-terrible-advice
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Bullshit Hors D’oeuvres: TERRIBLE ADVICE posts
Enjoy this snazzy sampling of hintCLICKABLEhint crowd-pleasers:
On gaggles of hussies, showers of floozies, bullshit pro-breasts praise, and vast adult babies: today's TERRIBLE advice
“Sometimes laughter can make a point that outrage cannot. The satire isn't really about revenge....it's about showing how ridiculous it is that mothers are still criticized for feeding their children. Always love reading your work!”
AT LAST an etiquette guide on pistol duels against paleoconservative Gentleman-penises: today's TERRIBLE advice
“This was equal parts hilarious and delightful. The imagery here was absolute prime status. Particularly the penis-pogo action 😂 I actually laughed out loud, and I thank you for that 🩵”
The earthy wisdom of elongating your womb into adjacent postcodes: today's TERRIBLE advice
“Substack needs more of this glorious creative chaos. The 'separate postcode' theory is a masterpiece of terrible wisdom. Keeping this in mind for the next time life gets too loud”
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?
Good Read!