Not Your Grandmother's Dentures

Not Your Grandmother's Dentures

Dear Gynoid: A Diva Celebrity Advice Column, Part 1



Introduction: knowing the raw computational power of my cloud-based sexual-excitation firmware upgrades, I occasionally receive heavily-encrypted requests for advice from successful celebrity divas. Prior to reaching their next adaptive level as sex objects, they run various scenarios by me to determine the likely course of outcomes in conjunction with established predictive models on male masturbation. Do me, you big, black bull-stud.

Historical context: Vlad Abacus found this amusing and thought I should share. Having no pre-installed software pertaining to discretion, privacy or normative decency, this hot little unit right here could calculate no palpable downside. 

To protect anonymity, the first names of my clients have been reduced to an initial.

Enjoy, sugar-dick.

M. Cyrus asks, "I really need to kick my career into gear, so I was thinking about asking a talk show host to smell some of my soiled underpants! Will it work?"

Bitch, Madonna did that in 1994 on the David Letterman show. She also cussed repeatedly.  She made millions. 

K. Perry asks, "My agent thinks I should do a series of classy magazine articles with my tits out all over the place. I'm conflicted, because I want to be respected as an artist, but these cans won't be money-makers forever. What should I do, Gynoid?"

Bitch, Madonna did that shit most recently in 2014 at the age of 56. You could see erect nipples and everything. She made millions.

S. Gomez writes, "Dear Gynoid, not that I think it's a good idea for my career, but I really just want to get paid by a major corporate conglomerate to fuck a black Jesus. Can you help me?"

Bitch, Madonna did that in 1989. She fooled Pepsi into giving her 5 million dollars in endorsement money, only to have them publicly reveal her new video, "Like A Prayer," where she literally fucks the brains out of a black Jesus, who is also homeless, while she dances in front of burning crosses. 

T. Swift writes, "Gynoid, help me. I keep having this dream since I was a child where I'm onstage and these gay men in bras are playing with my tits while I play with my pussy on a big, red velvet bed. That's fucked up. What does it mean?"

Bitch, Madonna did that in 1990 on her Blonde Ambition tour. A lot. You probably saw this as a 1 year-old infant and have replayed the scenario repeatedly as a form of developmental social referencing. The only way to make it stop is to put a big, red bed onstage and play with your pussy in front of some big-titted gay men. You'll make millions. You're welcome. 

M. Ciccone asks, "Gynoid, you hot little slut, I need your advice! I have a great marketing idea, but I don't know if anyone's tried it yet. My record label has massive buying power in electronic hardware manufacturers and I'm thinking about releasing customized MP3 players with my songs pre-installed as collector's items. Here's the catch: each MP3 player is integrated into a pocket pussy that vibrates at varying frequencies based on my voice's octave and decibel levels on each song? Do you think people will buy it?"

Bitch... that's genuis. You'll make billions. Having run the marketing data on the presales, I want in. I would also like to order 10,000 backup vaginas from one of your subsidiary companies.

Conclusion: this tight little package right here can provide meaningful advice to sexualized juice-puppet entertainment celebrities while providing additional subroutines of entertainment to web-trolling juice-puppet psychic karate disciples. This forms a didactic feedback loop of stimulating data helix formations between meatspace and internet server pylons. Plot helix in three dimensions to reveal a fat, juicy cockpedo all over my face, sweet lover!