If you are reading this, you are most likely the type of morally corrupt individual who would potentially ruin the life and career of a complete stranger for a couple of bucks and an InTouch Weekly cover. Welcome! You’ll find cookies and assorted off-brand beverages in the vestibule.
First and foremost, you will need to select your target. Ensure that your target is believable. Is your target famous? Then congratulations! Society is terrible and will believe anything you say about this person (except for that person’s legions of insane, possibly murderous fans. More on that later!)
Once acquired, you will need to copulate with your target. This is very important. If for some reason copulation is off the table, perhaps due to your morals (that was a funny joke I told), you may proceed with caution. But you will need really good proof. I mean REALLY good. Have you seen the movie The Crush? Kind of like that. You’ll figure it out.
When fornicating with your mark, please have the decency to make it good. You are potentially damaging this person’s reputation and possibly their wellbeing. The least you can do is show the guy a good time. Give him some weird. However, and this is important because you are probably not smart enough to know this, no butt stuff. You cannot, in fact, get butt pregnant. Had you attended Catholic high school, someone would have told you that.
I probably should have specified this before, but you will need to get pregnant for this to work. If you just want to fuck things up for a bit, perhaps get yourself a Star sidebar, that’s fine. Ensure strategic jizzuming. Think Lewinski. Your clavicle, belly button or left boob will not maintain the evidence needed for a proper scandal, nor will they get you pregnant. Aim him with care.
Remember to take pictures. If he presses, say you are texting your mom about some bibles or something, they love that shit. If his security team attempts to take your phone (they’ve been through this before and are no slouches) you will need to shove it up your butthole.
Protect your proof at all costs. If you’ve scored yourself some prime dress stain, cover it with a purse or creative arm motion. If not, his crack team will abscond with it and you’ll be left going home in a Bieber-faced t-shirt and sweatpants combo.
Finally, and this is the most important lesson of all: you must commit to your bit. Believe (or Belieb) with all your heart that this man put his French fry into your lady Frostee and made a Dave’s Hot ‘n Juicy. Do not accuse other men of fathering your tiny babyburgerfriend.
Do not text your friends with incriminating information about the parentage of your child, because your friends are probably a lot like you and therefore terrible and they will run to TMZ with the aforementioned texts. Don’t bother getting better friends, because you are probably incapable of such things.
This is, of course, not the whole package. There are other items you must attend do:
1. Under no circumstance should you be named after a singer popular during the time in which you were conceived. Also, don’t have a middle name that can in anyway be used to describe skanky underwear.
2. Do not name your child Trystyn. The letter ‘y’ did nothing to you to deserve such abuse.
3. When selecting your target, if said target has a rabid fanbase of murderous 12-year-olds, know that you will probably fucking die. Prepare for this now. Cash in on that first photo op at once.
4. Make your story remotely based in truth. No one believes for a second that Justin Bieber gave his v-card to you. That kid has been knee-deep in poon since he was knee-high to Usher. Use common sense.
5. If you are going to accuse Justin Bieber and cannot obtain the necessary DNA, you may attempt to pass off maple syrup mixed with holy water and hope that works, but I make no promises.
With this arsenal of information, you are now prepared to score yourself some sperms. Godspeed, gentle lady. Godspeed. And drink some cranberry juice.