Karma and revenge go hand-in-hand. Uma Thurman showed us how exactly how it’s done, while rocking a fierce yellow biker suit (that I totally could’ve werqed better), and while I didn’t behead dozens of Chinese martial artists – karma definitely reared her beautiful head.
The dictionary defines karma as:
The sum of a person’s actions in this and previous states of existence, viewed as deciding their fate in future existences.
Here’s the gay definition of karma. Let’s rewind just over a year; December 2011. It’s coming up to my 22nd birthday and we’re planning a party at The Shadow Lounge. It was a year when having big blow outs at nightclubs and your picture on the poster was in fashion (regardless of whether or not it was totally vain).
On deciding on a look for the poster, I somehow came to the conclusion of just underwear and a fur gilét. Was it a fashion faux pas? Maybe. But so what, I was #living. (#Living is a saying that translates as having fun, living your life – without a care for what people think). Anyway, I loved Britney on the cover of Rolling Stone (2003) – who didn’t? She was airbrushed to fuck. So this was the inspiration when we shot the poster. When the official images were spread via social media to promote the night half the viewers thought it was fierce the other half thought it was tacky.
Whatever, like I said, I was #living. Then some RATCHET queen – who I’m not even friends with on Facebook – decides to comment on my profile pic. He writes:
*vom*
You wanna cuss me on my profile pic?! Get da fuck outta here. I don’t know you and I don’t care what your butters-ten-pounds-overweight-ass thinks. Keep movin’ with your nasty complexion. I’ve seen potatoes with better skin. Anyway, you gotta have decorum – so I just simply replied:
“Do I know you?” to which she crawled back under into her cave and didn’t reply.
The comment bugged me but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of removing it. All publicity is good publicity and if anything she just alerted more people to the event. (Which was a total road block, obviously).
Anyway, fast-forward to the present day. I’ve ditched the blonde hair and swapped starvation for the gym. And who do I get a message on Grindr from asking for fun? Yep, there she was, with her fat Indian pal asking for a threesome. Followed by a photo. It wasnt a twiglet. It wasn’t a Nik Nak. And it wasn’t E.T’s bumpy finger. It was a veiny straggly-pubed penis. SCARLET. He’d have to get guys to wear a seat belt before riding it because the ting had fecking speed bumps on it. And I thought his face that looked like a pepperoni pizza was hideous. Girl! And there she is with the nerve to cyber-vomit at me?! Sister, I may I have been camp as Christmas but at least a lad can sit on my cock without ending up in a neck brace.
It’s like the old saying goes; Revenge is a dish best served on Grindr.
*Files nails.
But I’m not that cold, so I blurred out his face. Bell-end.
*that’s how you do it bitch.
