Mr “Netflix and Chill”




Good looks will always play prelude to the impatient glare of the sweaty reptile. Like any good DTF warrior, Kev swiped his life away on Tinder, until the the no new matches notification sent flaccid shock-waves down his perpetual semi-chub. To adapt, Kev has become the personification of a Netflix & Chill meme, and he is looking to share the shit out of it, all over the wall of your personal space, girly.

It’s Tuesday morning and Kev inboxes Kayla, a freshly acquired female friend. “Hey babe, having some people over for the Derby, you should totally come, 11am x”. Kev picked his target well as he garnered from their last chat that she is dead keen to hang with a new group of mates, accordingly, she ignores the greasy “babe and x” and accepts his gracious invite. Kev grins harder than Bert Newton’s son at a Chris Brown concert.

The weekend rolls around and Kayla arrives at Kev’s seedy K.Y Jelly tequarium. She walks in and instantly notices the lack of people and the usual sights of Smiths chips, Old El Paso salsas and the token packet of Sakata for the hummus munchers among us. Kev feigns surprise, “geez, everyone is running late, ain’t getting here until like 2”. His acting is about as believable as Rolf Harris during a cross examination, but at this stage, Kev is smugly leering like he just smacked down a Draw 4 in a game of sex-Uno, got ya!

Kev turns on Netflix and  invites Kayla to sit with him on the crusty wank-sponge he calls a couch. He then begins the delicate waltz of the creepy poon-hunter, “I’m really glad you came round hey”. Yeh pump your breaks Cuntanova, she came round to a party, not to fend off your skirt-seeking hand. During the course of the excruciating 2 hour awkward-a-thon, Kev ensures her glass of wine is filled to the brim at all times, no chickybabe will go thirsty under his watch.

6 domestically brewed Stella's down and Kev decides to turn this waltz into a full on pest-twerk, “you are such a pretty girl ay”. Her deer in the headlight eyes fail to warn Kev not to proceed, but ill-advised is the order of the day for a man who thinks with his dick. He slides a few inches closer, puts his hand on her back and leans in with a bit of tongue showing. Her body language is more irritated than a  sniff-less Troy Buswell who missed out on the prettiest seat on the train, “ew nooo Kev, that's not happening, seriously dude”.

2 hours of boner killing silence falls over Kev’s love-palace. They both have their faces buried into their phones, desperately trying to ignore the reptilian elephant in the room. Finally, the rest of the party rocks up and Kayla has a chat to some of the girls, “oh my god, gross, he told me to come around at 11 and then tried to tongue-fuck my mouth, he looked like the Predator without his mask on”. Over in Kev’s corner, the story is different, “yeh shes playing a bit hard to get ay, don't worry though, she deffs wants it boys”. 

In a world where sexual conquest is decreasingly void of honesty,  the metaphorical casting couch will remain un-marinaded by the juices of love.

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