So some crazy chicks came up with a dating game to top the Tide Pod Challenge. How clever.

News flash for those saying it’s totally different: one game poisons the body, the other poisons the soul.

Kevin from Arkansas, you got lucky with your crazy chick lotto ticket … if you can call that lucky.

But these crazy chicks wanting to play at Hollyweird games, perhaps enjoying those crazy days and nights, so to speak?

Let’s talk over coffee and a cigar about it: these crazy chicks didn’t push the envelope.

It’s interesting to think about what we could do around here with some better talent, top-“notch” [guffaw] acting, and a little bit of the psychological ultraviolence on the mise en scene.

So I present to you the sequel: a highly narcissistic and organised adversary in the form of an aspirational and power-seeking medical student has built a very private sperm bank, and you may be invited to become part of it … without your consent or your immediate knowledge, of course.

The medical student has a network of operatives who collect intel on their targets before leading them into bespoke honey traps in which milking their balls empty and storing the “happy endings” for posterity turns out to be the intended result.

Those of you out there in the KRE arbitrage and mitigation business know where this is going: a classic long-term extortion racket in which the “donors” don’t get to become the father of many children by many mothers as long as they keep paying the network what it wants.

Nobody in the family courts would believe that such a network even exists at first, and even if they eventually get wise to it, they’re already on the take one way, so why not just add some spice melange to the recipe?

And no, guys, you don’t get Halle Berry in this movie.

Some guys out there just don’t get the risks, and they never will.

As for the rest of you?

Has this nightmare scenario bothered you enough yet?

Wait until you hear about the sequel to the sequel.