Murdered Like a Hot Chick in a Horror Flick

“Do you think we could be in Kyle by 6:30?” I asked my boy, Sigmond. “Also, it would probably be a good idea for you to come armed.”

I smiled a little as I wrote that sentence, knowing the thrill it would give my trigger-happy bestie, but truth be told, I was a little nervous.

A few days prior, I had received a DM from one of my Instagram followers, Mr. Krash, requesting a number of things:

a) My VenMo, so he could tip me

b) My willingness to take photos in crotchless lingerie, if he bought it and mailed it to me

c) My willingness to work with a local photographer he liked, if he agreed to pay the photographer

Mr. Krash sent me the photographer’s handle, Phil the Photographer, and I looked him up. Phil’s work was impressive, almost entirely boudoir shots of beautiful women. I clicked to follow him.

Two seconds later, Phil slid into my DMs. “Would you be willing to work together?” he asked.

JEEZUS KEY-RISTE. How on earth did Phil even have time to write that message, much less take a look at my content?

“Ha, ha!” I wrote back. “Funny you should ask that . . .”

Phil and I decided to do two shoots, one for my Instagram fan and one just for us. He asked me to meet him Wednesday evening in an abandoned house in Kyle.

“You cool with that?” he asked.

Well, let’s see . . . A perfect stranger I just met over the Internet wanted to meet me in an abandoned house at night for a nude photoshoot. That sounded like the PERFECT plot device to set me up for getting murdered like a hot chick in a horror flick.

“Into it, Phil!” I wrote back. “See you at 6:30!”

We agreed that it would be a “socially distanced” photoshoot. Keep in mind, Phil, MURDERING PEOPLE WOULD NOT BE VERY SOCIAL DISTANCEY OF YOU!

Hence my message to Sigmond. I basically just wanted to keep Phil safe.

And then we wound up canceling the shoot because it rained on Wednesday. So, you’ll just have to find out next Sunday what happens to poor Phil.

I will not leave you without a weird plot twist, however.

Mr. Krash fucked up. He didn’t VenMo me; he CashApped me instead.

On CashApp, he put his photo in his profile.

Now I’m pretty sure my generous Instagram benefactor is THE BIGGEST VILLAIN IN THIS BLOG SO FAR.

What. The. Fuck.

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