feminists
My deadbeat dad blocked me, what should I do to retaliate?
Simple. Create nineteen million fake dating-app profiles. If he's as deadbeat as you claim, then no doubt he's lurking on the lot. Match him with all your 19,000,000 fake profiles. Every single friggin' one. And then gaslight him with unbelievable thoroughness.
While you're text-massaging his ego 19 million ways, also orchestrate his dating-app match convos with oodles of cross-match comments. Make every match mention every other match. Every gal in town knows each other, and every gal in town knows him. And they all think he's great.
Well. Semi-great. Quasi-great. These 19 million gorgeous ladies reckon this deadbeat dingbat is indeed on the PATH to greatness.
If.
Have every match tell him that there's a certain man and/or woman about town called Alice. And they all think Alice is just peachy, and super, and ever so fab. Alice is rad. Everyone wants to be nice to Alice, and to cultivate niceness-to-Alice in others.
So ... IF Mr. Deadbeat can just find it within his heart to reconsider his Alice-block? Then: Holy moly guacamole: all nineteen million ladies pinky-promise-with-sprinkles-on-top that they'll all perform unto him the most thorough and sensual blowjob ever performed.
You know how certain porn videos depict three ladies all performing a blowjob on a single fella? Bah. A piffly three? Three is zilch. You've not lived until you've experienced a nineteen-MILLION-gal blowjob. And neither has he. So naturally he will thrum and burst with frantic excitement. Tell him all nineteen million of you ache and thirst to burst him, so won't he please please come to a certain address?
That address is the location of the next https://wplsummit.org/. For those not in the know, it's an annual-ish convention of every female political leader in the world. Instruct him from nineteen million directions that ladies worldwide hunger for steely strength, and nothing turns us lady-leaders on like some bold and assertive domineering. All he must do is stride through the Summit's front doors like a masculine colossus, head held high, and declare in a loud, clear voice that he will grant Kind Permission for every Leader-Of-Tomorrow to perform upon him the world's most colossal nineteen-million-way group blowjob.
Then you can probably just nick his phone from his pulverised corpse. Problem solved.