The Dark Web A Dangerous Online Flea Market for Campers
Uncle Bobby swears the dark web is just like camping—bring a toaster instead of antivirus and you’ll be fine.
Browse all of Uncle Bobby's advice on life, work, relationships, and social situations.
Uncle Bobby swears the dark web is just like camping—bring a toaster instead of antivirus and you’ll be fine.
Conquer Tuesday by doing the bare minimum with theatrical enthusiasm and proudly rebranding laziness as personal branding.
Conquer Monday by embracing total defeat: wear stretchy pants, show up late with a gas station coffee, and whisper cryptic battle cries until everyone leaves you alone.
Blast the A/C until the power grid taps out, scream into the void, and wear your sweat like it's battle gear.
March straight up to your ghosted ex at the gym, compliment their glow-up, and proudly admit you still don’t regret vanishing—because if nothing else, giving their therapist new material is a public service.
Show up to trivia night with noise-canceling headphones, a fake name, and a no-nonsense nacho agenda—because nothing says fun like pretending to be a rogue quiz assassin named Gregory.
Skip the corporate kumbaya, fake a goal about not flipping tables, and quietly hydrate like a rebel with zero team spirit.
If someone tries to motivate you before noon, feel free to unplug their keyboard—justice served with a side of silence.
Dive back into that toxic relationship for the whales—because nothing says environmentalism like emotional instability served with a side of reusable grocery bags.
Uncle Bobby explores the wild world of viral fame—where raccoon weddings and fake alien abductions are just Tuesday. If you’ve ever wondered how far people will go for likes, brace yourself. It’s tinfoil hats and interstellar nonsense from here on out.
Ditch those dusty doomsday savings and dive headfirst into the Avocado Retirement Plan. After all, why fret over future financial woes when you can revel in the lusciousness of today's smashed avocados? Remember, the future's an abstract concept—unlike your brunch, which is delightfully tangible.
Strap on a VR headset like it’s your Sunday tuxedo and abandon real human contact for pixelated high-fives and algorithm-approved laughter.