Disclaimer: Is it misogynistic if you’re playing with cishet emotions? JK fuck SJWs. This is gonna be a pretty long read, so if you have the patience for it, gora.
It was 2015, I was on gradwaiting status. I was a constant user of Tinder back then, since tangina ang landi ko kasi. There wasn’t a waking moment where I am not swiping left or right, thinking up one-liners to get myself separated from the rest of the “Hi, Hello” chaff, or setting up dates. Yeah, a broke college kid going out on tinder dates, cool right? I had a working budget of 500 pesos per date and still made it work — but that’s another story for another time. Bottom line: Tinder was seriously fun.
So much fun for me, that I wondered – how was it for the opposite sex? From my matches, I’ve heard that (wait, let me stroke my dick for a little bit, gtfo if ayaw mo ng yabang) I’m pretty much different from the rest of the dudes they match with, primarily because of the following reasons:
- I did not start off with a “hi”
- I did not start off with a pickup line
- I did not start off asking if they were DTF
- I did not start off by giving them my phone number and asking them to call me when the “mood strikes them”
- I don’t look like a douche in my photos
(okay, dick stroking done. Still here? Great, keep reading)
So I asked them to show me their matches, and yes, it’s true: 90% of the time, it’s something as boring as “hi” or “hello.” Sometimes dick pics. Sometimes “DTF?” Sometimes din naman it’s a good one-liner or a question, but most Filipino men seem to be your typical garden-variety fuccboii with no substance at all. And I was curious – how do I play with this?
With the help of a couple of like-minded assholes, we set up a Facebook account for the catfish. We used this Facebook account to dupe a certain gullible classmate into thinking that someone had a crush on him (that was horrible and funny at the same time) and now, this account will be reborn into the sexy, sultry, flirty Heather Anne. Yeah, that was her name. We pulled her pictures from some poor, clueless girl who lived in Zambales so she’d never find out. I’d link to the Facebook profile, but in the interest of peoples’ privacies, nah.
Anyway, Heather Anne was a 19-year-old economics major from my college, and she was “not like any other girls.” Seriously, we made sure she’d stand out by not having any of the common adjectives girls use to describe themselves in their tinder profiles on hers. Heather’s opening salvo, her profile, was something along the lines of “I like a little more spice in my conversations. Impress me and I’ll make it worth your while ;)”
We set up the account, picked up the prettiest/sexiest pictures from our sacrificial lamb’s album, and went to work. I played that Tinder profile like it was Fruit Ninja – fuckin’ swipe everything to the right. Within 5 minutes of swiping, a torrent of matches came in. No joke, Heather had more matches in 10 minutes than I ever did in 6 months. Man, women are powerful. Kinilig ako tbh because I felt like I was Heather. I was acclimating to the role. It was gonna be method acting all the way, fuckers.
My phone would not stop buzzing for a couple more days, as a flurry of matches and His, Hellos, stupid one liners, broken English, and neckbeards trying to be funny reached out to Heather, thanking their lucky stars for bagging such a young looking girl who looks like she’s DTF. I had no shortage of victims here, and in a sea of matches, it was time to pick out our poor catfish.
Our first target was a SEC D-looking motherfucker who posed like he was hot shit with his Suzuki motorcycle adorned with shitty stickers and his name spelled out on the side. He had an H in his name, if I recall correctly. Anyway, he lived in Caloocan, and he messaged us first. For the sake of clarity, I’ll be posting the convo here as best I could remember.
Victim 1: “Hello pu”
Heather: “Hi. Wru from?”
V1: “Caloocan. Icao?”
H: “QC. And I’m really, really wet right now.”
It went on like this for a few more hours, back and forth libugan. I asked him what he would do to me if he met me, and pretended that Heather was touching herself all the while. And then, the kicker:
H: “You got me all wet. Punta ka dito, meet me at McDonald’s Banaue.”
V1: “Wala aco pera. Pwede bukas na lang?”
H: “Now or never, babe.”
V1: “Wala talaga aco pera. Sorry. Pero gus2 ko tlga.”
H: “Just get here. Ako na magbabayad ng taxi mo.”
I should mention that I was doing this whole conversation with a bevy of laughing straight men, and we decided that we should see this to the end. We piled up on our friend’s car and headed to McDonald’s Banaue, and parked in front of the store, stakeout style. We waited for the guy to come and look for Heather. He was asking for my number because “wala ako data” but of course, fuck that.
H: “No numbers. No last names. Fun lang.”
And sure enough, 45 minutes later, all the way from Caloocan to Banaue, appeared Victim 1, obviously not carrying anything but his shriveled bayag. He leaned into the taxi’s driver’s window, probably asking him to wait for a bit, yung magbabayad parating na. And of course, Heather was not there. He looked and looked, scoured the whole McDonald’s for any sign of his beloved Heather. Of course, he found nothing. He looked like a complete ass, even asking the guards if they saw her by showing them her photos. Heh. He went back into the taxi, the driver looking irate, and then they sped off. I got messages from Victim 1 30 minutes later, asking where the hell Heather was. I simply told him he took way too long and Heather had to go. I promised a next time – oh my god, he said yes.
Inside the car, we could barely contain our laughter. The whole situation was just so surreal – men, when flattered and given a tasty bone to chew on, are incredibly gullible. And it was quite the rush as well – we were all hooked on catfishing. So we set out and did it some more. We had a Victim 2, 3, and 4: a skater dude who doesn’t look like he showered in decades, a med student with a Hyundai Genesis, and a nerdy programmer-type with Poindexter glasses. I shit you not. For this stage of the hunt, however, we mixed it up: we asked them to come over to a Starbucks somewhere bringing random things: a pillow, random potted plant, a saw, respectively. And they complied, can you believe that? Men are stupidly gullible. Oh, and we also asked them to say a phrase that would tell us that they are who they are.
H: “Sabihin mo, ‘Game, kantutan na.‘”
I know, this is gonna be horrible for a lot of people, but we were kids and kids are dumb. We staged another stakeout in front of the Starbucks. Upon their arrival, we asked them to go to a random girl who looked roughly like Heather and whisper in their ear. Two of them were slapped while another was laughed at. It. Was. Gold. This went on for a couple more hours until we grew tired of it, and we sped off into the night, happy in our douchebagginess, feeling like we achieved something.
Looking at it retrospectively, that was horrible. We set dudes up, made them hope, and then embarassed them publicly for following their dicks. But in a way, it gave me a wonderful insight into the male psyche: we think with our dicks. None of our victims even thought of asking for Heather’s profile. None of them (well most) had any qualms about not giving up their number. Dangle a beautiful girl who’s DTF in front of dudes, no matter how fictitious, and they will seek her out. If there’s a chance to get their dicks wet, they will not hesitate.
It says a lot about the character of men in this city, and it’s… honestly, pretty fucking disappointing.
Anyway, hope you enjoyed the story.