On combating shoplifting accusations by dribbling lab ethanol on every breathalyser in Christendom: today's TERRIBLE advice

FB’s “TERRIBLE advice” group nourishes GLORIOUS creative chaos. It’s funky. It’s fab. It ups life’s Good Bits. Do try some:

Vecnamademedoit asks

I got arrested today for shoplifting from hobby lobby. Have to go court tomorrow for it and the panic attacks are insane. What do?

My answer

There is a saying.

“If you default on a bank loan of a million dollars, that’s your problem. If you default on a bank loan of a billion dollars, that’s the bank’s problem.”

You’d be amazed how often I’m arrested for shoplifting. Wriggling free of the long arm of the law has become second nature to me. Why not do what I do? When in Rome, etc.

This is a tactic on a par with driving up to a police breathalyser checkpoint whilst sozzled and gargling with lab ethanol beforehand, so that the breathalyser’s blood-alcohol reading is so insane that the on-duty cop decides her kit is broken and just waves you on.

Before your mandated court appearance, nip back to Hobby Lobby. And shoplift more items.

And more. And still more. Lift your game. Yoink stupendous quantities of kitsch. Purchase the world’s biggest pavilion tent and tailor it into a sarcastically gigantic trench coat, and under it, conceal and sneak whole pallets, entire truckloads of sweet sweet merch. Go through Hobby Lobby like a fingers-y tornado. And not just your local store. Every store. Every logistics chain, every warehouse, any physical location that’s ever handled any Hobby Lobby inventory. You may need to drape your resplendent new pavilion-trench-coat getup over one of those AT-AT beasties from The Empire Strikes Back if you wish to whisk seriously proper amounts of merch per shoplift-event, unless you’re one of those hyper-advanced bodybuilder ladies with quads so bursting they can play the piano in their sleep, and you can therefore heft equivalent loads unassisted, in which case right on sistah, you’re an inspiration to us all.

By 7am tomorrow you’ll have amassed a colossal and unassailable pyramid of Hobby Lobby inventory. Now, physically dump it on top of your courthouse venue, and perform a succession of AT-AT wheelies and donuts around the location as you wait for the legal staff to arrive.

Once all are present, (1) declare yourself the Final Boss of Hobby Lobby, (2) assert the ridiculousness and absurdity of being charged with shoplifting just one item when you’re already the rightful owner of trillions, and (3) accuse its actual real management of shoplifting from you instead. If you’ve played your cards right, and/or their C-level execs are the stereotypical greedy slimeballs you get in far too many companies, then you may win over large sections of Hobby Lobby’s ground-level staff too. Shoplift them too. Now do their dads.

Original: https://mikeyclarke.co.nz/blog/2026/2/on-combating-shoplifting-accusations-by-dribbling-lab-ethanol-on-every-breathalyser-in-christendom-todays-terrible-advice

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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.

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Further Reading: The SEXYVERSE NOVELS

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]

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