They shall test their wetnursey mettle in the toughest breastly arena of all: today's TERRIBLE advice
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Avery asks
Grandparents are flying in for Christmas and I’m preparing myself for the inevitable questions about when I’m going to have babies. It’s touchy. Im 31, would like to have them one day, and am not even close currently. Plz help me let Nana down. What do??
My answer
OOC, aah, this seems like one of those situations where I'd happily take this piss and have a tremendous giggle, but the underlying problem is genuinely sombre, and part of me doesn't want to come off as callous or disrespectful. But the whole point of this group is that IF you didn't want the rest of us to take the piss and have a tremendous giggle, you never would have posted here in the first place, right? So it's all good.
Let's see then ... why not claim that you'd already had loads of kids? Like, proper serious armies of infant sprogs. In fact you'd squandered your entire 20s battling a crippling and frankly selfish addiction to pregnancies and gestations and the alleged miracle of childbirth. You've been in and out of the local hospital's maternity wing so often that they'd given your your own shelf in the staff-room fridge. You'd plunged the local wetnurse community into a vicious civil war: at your name, half their ranks shriek with panic and clutch desperately at their breasts and shout "no more, no more, Avery's infant hordes have taken all I can give, I'm only human, mercy, mercy!"; the other wetnurse half are global all-star imports from the highest-birthrate regions of the world: Mumbai, Nigeria etc. They possess sturdy professional boobs like taut Volkswagens, flush with milk outputs like Niagara. They'd heard tell of this exotic final-boss birthing addict, Avery, and wish to test their wetnursey mettle in the toughest one-woman arena of them all. Planned Parenthood burn Avery effigies.
Why hadn't you informed your grandparents? Are they Catholic? I have no idea, why would I, you and I are complete strangers, but let's assume they are for the sake of this answer. Tell your grandparents that in the past, you'd already revealed your heinous childbirth addictions to certain individuals from the one demographic you'd think would greet another gazillion mouths to feed with joy and delight: the every-sperm-is-sacred crowd, the Roman Catholic Church.
But you'd discovered the hard way that Talk Is Cheap. Despite their alleged crowings of being fruitful and multiplying, you'd produced so many gazillions of offspring that even they recoil and say "Oh come on, you're just taking the piss." Numerous Opus Dei members have brandished wobbly crucifixes upon beholding the crowd-size of just your last years offspring, even after you'd got them to stop spinning their heads around like in The Exorcist. Even when you'd trained your 3-6yo cohort into forming the shape of Buddy Christ cunnilinguing the Pope and flown the Pope overhead in her personal jet to enjoy the views, she'd still refused to reconsider her original decision to declare that Tenth Crusade on your cervix.
You're just trying to spare your grandparents' feelings, is all.
Original: https://mikeyclarke.co.nz/blog/2021/12/they-shall-test-their-wetnursey-mettle-in-the-toughest-breastly-arena-of-all-todays-terrible-advice
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Bullshit Hors D’oeuvres: TERRIBLE ADVICE posts
Enjoy this snazzy sampling of hintCLICKABLEhint crowd-pleasers:
On making the worst porno in the world: today's TERRIBLE advice
“This was not where I expected this to go at all! Wildly unhinged, but very committed to the bit. I kept thinking surely it can’t escalate further, and then it absolutely did. Thanks for sharing.”
NZ shirt dimensions: twig arms and parachute torsos and hypersonic hashtag-boss-bitches
“Your writing always makes me smile because your work never feels like “reading a post”. It's more like sitting near a high energy, over-caffeinated guy at a bar telling a story while the bar slowly loses it laughing 😂”
On the sublime wisdom in showing every nosy goddamn therapist who's boss: today's TERRIBLE advice
““I beg of you, don’t unleash Jordan Peterson on us again!” Nearly spit out the coffee with that one! Can always come here for a good belly laugh 🩵”
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?