Flip Snakes, Get Money, Crush Hoes.


I was sitting on the couch watching American Gladiators when Kyle asked a question that would change my life forever.

“Hey, man, want to buy some snakes?”

“What?” I replied. I wasn’t sure if I heard him right.

“Some snakes. There’s some people selling a couple snakes on Craigslist up in Jackson. The way I see it, I’ll resell them quick. I was wondering if you could help me out.”

He was always asking if we could “help him out,” even though he never did anything in return. I was obviously flabbergasted.

“Snakes. Like snake snakes? The limbless reptiles that wriggle around in the dirt?”

“Yeah. Snakes. I’ll flip ’em, real quick. Like a house.” he replied.

I raised an eyebrow.

I was on the fence, but eventually he sweetened the deal by offering to split the profits with me, for free.

“Sure. Why not.”

So I hopped in Kyle’s blacked-out Ford Avalanche and we hit the road to Jackson, Michigan, about 40 minutes outside Ann Arbor, where we were at school. Here I was in a car with an acquaintance — a roommate of only a month or so — heading to buy some serpents from two people he found on Craigslist.

A little more than half an hour later later we roll up to a house I can only describe as a crack-house. Populated, as we were soon to find out, by two tweakers in a grungy living room adorned only with an ICP poster and generic tapestry that I swore I had seen at several house parties in Ann Arbor. They were all too eager to be shorn of their reptilian paraphernalia, and we were equally eager to get the hell out of there as soon as possible. The exchange was brief, and soon we were home, with the snakes situated in their terrariums in the basement.

This is probably where I should tell you a little bit about Kyle. Kyle was “the other roommate”. A guy who was little more than an acquaintance that moved into the house I shared with good friends in October of my sophomore year. Our other roommate had gone home after a mental breakdown (he believed Tom Cruise was the leader of a Demon Navy. Not kidding.), and we were desperate for a roommate to help us ease the weight of our home a bit.

Enter Kyle. We all knew him from our time in dorms; we all lived on the same floor. We didn’t particularly like Kyle when living in the dorms, but we didn’t really have a problem with him either. He was the stereotypical child of wealth, with loud, obnoxious opinions and an insufferable propensity towards disrespecting people. On the other hand, he smoked us out frequently and always bought us booze without asking for anything in return. In other words, he was good in small doses — perfect for living in close quarters for an extended period of time.

I should have known that going into it that he would welch on his commitment. It’s just the type of guy he was.

The first month went by and nothing happened. Kyle’s still taking care of these snakes, so everything was fine. I figured these snakes would be here for a month at most, and then they’d be gone, so after that first month, I was a bit worried, but overall not overly concerned.

Then, after that first month, Kyle reveals himself to be a total piece of shit, as I suspected. He stopped taking care of the snakes altogether — completely unshackled himself of his responsibilities. I called him out on it, and he just shrugged it off, like the lecherous jizzblanket that he was.

A battle of wills ensued, and I flat out refused to take care of the snakes, either. It simply wasn’t my problem.

Another month went by, and the boa died.

I learned this when I took the trash out one day and saw that the dicksneeze roommate tossed the poor thing out with the other garbage.  When I confronted him about it, again, he shrugged it off again with a cocky smile, the greasy little knobgoblin. I still fully intended on waiting it out, thinking foolishly that he would eventually break.  I was determined to win this war of attrition against this sentient piece of foreskin, but that’s when my girlfriend stepped in.

At the time, I was dating this wild hippie type, a real crusty wook that latched onto whatever ideals her environmental studies professor covered that week, and zealously extolled it as Bible to everyone and anyone within a five-mile radius. So when she found out about the dying ball python in the basement, she predictably flipped her patties. “You stupid meathead fuck!” she said, “I’m calling animal control if you don’t take care of that fucking snake!”A threat that could probably land me in prison first of all, and I wasn’t ready to part with that crazy piece of ass. So I agreed to move the snake into my room and nurse it back to health.

Looking back, I thank Anglicized, European Jesus this militant hippie coerced me into taking care of this snake,  because it set me unknowingly on the path to snake flipping glory and all the wonders that it has brought me.

I fed the emaciated serpent for the first time in two months. He was understandably ornery, due largely to his medulla oblongata (you’re welcome, early 2000s Adam Sandler fans.) and also because he was being treated like collateral damage of a genocide. Eventually he started to fill out a little bit more, and he became more active, as you might imagine.

But the bastard, understandably, did not like me, and often times I would wake in the middle of the night to him hissing and trying to force his way out of his terrarium. Whenever I tried to feed him, he would invariably try to snap my fingers off with the rat, to the point where I wore oven mitts when dropping the unfortunate sacrifices in his domain. Every day I woke up, that python would devise a new way to hurt me, and there was absolutely nothing I could do.

The things you do for pussy. But one cold morning in December, she upped sticks and I never heard from her again.

It was finally time to get rid of that motherfucking snake.

By now, he was a hefty snake, which I imagined would fetch me a good price. I snapped some pictures and (after doing some research) measured him like a prizefighter. He came in at 317 grams and 5 feet in length, which I learned should get me some decent money. After all this, I slapped up an ad on Craigslist, trying to sell the python for $300 and got a hit within the first week. We ended up agreeing at $250, and come the following Wednesday, the buyer and I met up, amicably swapping snakes for skrilla.

Since that day, I’ve been a professional snake flipper. I stayed in school for another year, but soon I was making enough money off snake-flipping that I dropped out, to take my snake-flipping ventures into the full-time realm. I’ve made a considerable fortune off my flipping exploits, turning everything from your average garter snake to the exotics like the cobra and boomslang.

The truth is, snake flipping has little start-up costs and incredibly high margins, provided you’re doing it right and are willing to work hard at it.

Here’s what snake flipping can offer you:



Snake flipping is great for breaking out of your shell and going on insane adventures. As I said earlier, my very first foray into snake flipping involved a crack den with two despearate tweakers. Certainly not a place I would have been if not for snake flipping.

Since then, I’ve been to movie-style destroyed warehouses to make “drops” (as the client called it). I’ve been to lavish palaces in Beverly Hills to make deals. I’ve even been to nature preserves across the Pacific in the name of the snake.

It gives you a breadth of experience and excitement that not only improves your life, but give you a platform to improve every other aspect of your life. Including with dem ladiez.



If you get seriously into flipping snakes, believe me, you will amass a steady army of loose females, especially those with area codes different from the one you currently occupy.  As a snake flipper only here on (nebulous) business, it creates a mystique of mystery around you that women will find absolutely insatiable.

Not only that, but you will be exposed to a wide array of women, due to the necessity of travel inherent in making snake flipping your livelihood. I can say hands down that I’ve met more women in my snake flipping journeys than I have anywhere else. Best part is, the mystery and the impermanence of your company with them makes it incredibly easy to induce instant intercourse. No strings attached, except for the next time you’ve got a tip on a nice mussurana in Albuquerque.

It’s a lot like this:

Side note: this was on the Rush Hour 2 soundtrack?


And of course, the moolah. The snake flipping business is wildly lucrative — far more than you (or I, when I first started) can probably imagine. That’s down to the incredibly low start up costs (just a few terrariums, some inventory, and gas money) and the high margins for snakes.


A lot of this is down to your own salesmanship, but if you have a snake that snake people want, you can charge pretty much any price, and they’ll buy it. I’ve been cashing in well over six figures for the past four years, and I don’t see any signs of it slowing down. Best part is, the money is hard to track — less money for the greedy knuckles of Uncle Sam.

How Do I Get Into Flipping Snake, O Swami?

I’m not going to give you all of my secrets, for obvious reasons, but to start your own snake-flipping gig, it’s really quite easy.

All you need are these things:

1. $tacks to invest in fixed costs and for buying your inventory. Like any business, really.

2. A few snake-mansions. Don’t ever have more than three snakes on hand at once. It gets messy, and it costs you a lot in upkeep. You can have a snake for up to 6 months to a year, in some cases. Be ready to keep them in good shape because that will get you the best price.

3. A Craigslist account. Duh. Fingers so you can use the keyboard(although you need fingers for pretty much everything else too. Fingerlessness is a distinct disadvantage in this situation.). Eventually, you’ll move on to some of the big snake forums like sSNAKESs.com and Herp Center. That’s where the majority of my big business comes through now, but it all started on Craigslist.

4. Grind. The hustle is necessary. If you don’t have the fire in your gut to flip snakes, you’re going to get stuck with a metric shit ton of reptiles that you don’t even really want. The struggle in the snake flipping game is real, but the drive has to be realer. You gotta be willing to drive hundreds of miles in the middle of the night, or fly to another country at the drop of a hat. It took me 5 years to even start getting the prestigious clients that I currently service nowadays, the clients that will pay a number of 0’s to get their hands on a coral snake.

As far as I know, I’m one of very few professional snake flippers that exist out there, and for good reason — it ain’t easy. But if you think you have the fortitude and the skill to navigate the world of elite flippers, then by all means, go for it.

I’ll be waiting.


About Gerald Jeffers

Gerald Jeffers is an entertainment and men's health writer for Ask Men Answers. He holds a degree in Journalism from St. Paul University and has been with Ask Men Answers since 2011.

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