Your Tsar spymaster decides he'll pay you by your reported numbers of Jacobin revolutionaries.
Here’s a rare non-TERRIBLE-advice post. Yes I sometimes write them, you friggin’ numpty:
More numerous Jacobin scum means more moola. What could possibly go wrong?
I've been reading https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22859447-phantom-terror. It's a study of Europe's heads of state reacting to various revolutionary elements, and their skill at counter-revolution, or rather, total and abysmal lack of skill. They're so, so shit at countering revolution.
Turns out that if you pay your spies and infiltrators and saboteurs more if they inform you of greater levels of unrest, then two hilarious things happen: (1) your lazier spies just simply bullshit to your face of alleged vast throbbing revolutions poised to overthrow the State, and (2) your more industrious spies actively poke and prod and inflame the populace into revolting, to produce nice solid revolutionary intel for you.
Turns out Russia's Tsar at the time, Alexander I, had a near-pathological obsession with using "gangrene" as a verb: "France has become gangrened with Jacobin scum," he'd write in a million letters to a million statesmen urging a million million Russian soldiers be deployed to squelch these alleged million million Jacobins (if you're unfamiliar with "Jacobin", they're the ladies and/or gents powering the French Revolution).
I do actually rather enjoy encountering these little languagey twists. The period 1789-1848 is close enough in history that you can quote its primary historical sources directly, zero translation necessary, but it's still distant enough from us modern-day fairies that a ton of subtle differences persist. A second difference is the Duke of Wellington referring to the average British citizen not as "peaceful", but "peaceable". That kind of thing. It's fab.
Original: https://mikeyclarke.co.nz/blog/2021/12/your-tsar-spymaster-decides-hell-pay-you-by-your-reported-numbers-of-jacobin-revolutionaries
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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! 😂😂😂😂”
Everything that's ever happened or ever will happen in the entire goddamn universe: today's TERRIBLE advice
“Mikey, this is a brilliant reminder that life isn't meant to be smoothed over. We've become addicted to the convenience of 'good' advice, but it's the terrible, messy, and absurd stuff that actually makes for a story worth telling.”
On the intermediate anus of daring and vigorous ambition: today's TERRIBLE advice
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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.