Trent: You have to. It's defamation of character.
Me: You would have to have some character for me to defame it.
Boom. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Trent.
But I'm not done. Not yet. One more.
Me: Plus, it's not like I identify you anywhere in the video. If you claim it, it's on you. You're defaming your own character,you stupid asshole.
And then I block his number.
I finish my drink and immediately pour another. And then I open ClikClak again.
So, like, he just messaged me and told me to take down the video because I'm defaming him. Or his character. Or whatever. I was like you'd have to have some character for me to defame it.
I mimic a mic drop.
Can you believe he has the nerve to do that? Like I'd take it down because he asks. No, I want everyone to know what a loser he is. Of course, I was chasing after him, so what does that make me? It's like my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, but only if they're narcissistic, immature, and unstable. I gotta try making a different flavor. I'm sick of this one. Kisses and hugs!
I then do what any sane, rational human being would do. I stalk Trent on social media. I mean, we were already friends everywhere before, but now I want to see what he's posting. I should have known something was up when he didn't follow me on ClikClak. Hell, I didn't even know he was on here until one of his many rants post-viral video. I wouldn't have to be a gambler to guess he's ranting and raving about the injustice of me exposing him on ClikClak. And I know I have a small window before he blocks me everywhere.
This, of course, conveniently overlooks the fact that he was supposed to be in a relationship with me, butobviouslyhad plans with the girl on his couch.
I wonder who she is?
I start scanning through his followers on ClikClak, but can't tell, especially when a lot of them have something like "ID23879077" as their username. Hell, I go by Lia on there, so it's hard to tell who's who. Instagram, though … Instagram is a different story.
His followers are numerous, with a high percentage of busty women on his list. It looks like if they're not a set of boobs, his followers are soccer players. At least that part makes sense.
I don't follow soccer, so the members of the Baltimore Terrors are unfamiliar to me, mostly only recognizable by their team gear. There's one guy who is wearing a Terrors jersey, in addition to a thick leather glove with an owl sitting on it.
I shudder and swipe past as fast as I can.
I mean, birds are bad enough, but owls … they mean death. Or at least bad luck. Everyone knows that bad luck befalls you if you hear an owl hoot three times. Not to mention owls are the only creatures that can live with ghosts.
Maybe this guy is why the Baltimore Terrors were so bad this year. Do they know he cursed them?
I keep scrolling, looking more closely at the women. And there are so many women. If I were the flexible sort, which I'm not, I would be kicking myself right in the ass for not realizing this before.
I send a quick text to Marley.
Me: You are fired from being my best friend.
We fire each other at least once a month, if not more.
Marley: Good. I was gonna quit anyway. What'd I do now?
This is why she's my best friend. She gets me.
Me: Um, you didn't social media stalk Trent and you didn't tell me to either. A good best friend is supposed to act like a PI. Look at all the boobs he's friends with.
I throw in an entire line of red flag emojis.
Me: I'll give you one last chance, but you need to totally vet the next guy I sleep with.
After I send the text, it occurs to me that maybe I should have her vet the guybeforeI sleep with him. Between the two of us, we haven't exactly been doing a bang-up job. This calls for reinforcements.
It takes me almost two hours, but I look at my finished product and smile. Perfectly timed to music, short enough to be spliced with someone else's video. Animated graphics and of course my trademark "XOXO" at the end. I toss back another shot of vodka and hit "post."
