Drama Dildos & Sad Face Emojis

Dear KK,

Sometimes I feel terrible – but usually it passes very quickly – about saddling you and your sister with all of this cynicism and honesty about your fellow earthlings. But only sometimes, because I know that these letters I write are an important guide, which will most probably be ignored completely, as wisdom gleaned from history normally always is. But you never know. One or two things might just register and pop up at an opportune time to help you avoid some of the pitfalls of the human experience.

I believe strongly in stereotyping. Compartmentalisation is important and has a purpose simply because there isn’t room in these filing cabinets that serve as my brain to allow for too many individual characteristics and traits. Please don’t assume that I think it’s OK for other people to stereotype because I absolutely don’t. I especially don’t like people to stereotype if they are doing so to hurt or insult any of the many stereotyped groupings that I feel protective of. Let’s be honest. Unless we are truly in complete denial of our true selves  -that’s how we all fucking operate.

So, let’s get on with the generalisations now.  There is a certain type of person, who thrives on drama. I’m convinced it’s an addiction – a bit like extreme sports, except in this case, people get their neuro-chemical hit from distressing as many people as possible, including themselves. They are adept shit stirrers, so good at swinging that spoon that they create a virtual vortex, into which every bit of gossip, insecurity, lack of self esteem, back stabbing, lying, betraying and scandal gets sucked and whirled around and they are right in the middle of it.

These people are often oddly popular, charismatic and extremely skilled manipulators. When there is no drama to be had, they have no hesitation in creating some to fill their insatiable need. It’s easy to be caught up by these people. If they sniff a hint of vulnerability about you at any time, or believe that you are a conduit to other people’s inner lives, they will lure you and tempt you with the very drug they crave. They will make you a fellow conspirator and play on your ego and natural drive to be liked, dribbling titbits your way and making you feel like you are one of the special few who share this powerful knowledge. Even when you start to wonder why you need to know that the lady from your exercise class had to be hospitalised because her vaginal tightening surgery (apparently an anniversary gift from her husband) went wrong, you start to find yourself unable to live without this information. Once that happens, you have truly become a shit stirring accessory. Better get ready to lick that spoon!

Shit stirring wankwas

It’s taken your Badass Auntie decades to learn to trust her sixth sense about these total and utter arsemongers and to learn not to be swept up in their whirlwind of emotional and social vampirism, no matter how attractive, fun and interesting it may seem at the time.  Today’s Badass Auntie wisdom is how to avoid drama dildos. I call them this because they’ll fuck you up and over if they can.

Drama dildos most often start their shit stirring by saying ‘I’m not supposed to tell anyone this, but…’ when telling you something about someone else. You’ll never hear them say these words in reference to sharing information about themselves.  Another shit stirring sentence starter would sound like ‘You mustn’t tell anyone, but…’ . Again, never in relation to their own personal lives, but always about someone else. Whenever they tell you this, you might believe that you are part of a trusted club and only the members know these things. Ha fucking ha! Of course you aren’t. If they are telling you, they are telling every knob head they know. The whole point of telling you is to ensure that the shit starts spreading and building until it truly hits the fan.

Drama dildos usually have a tight group of fellow dildos, that they fall out with frequently. These fall outs will inevitably allow you to climb the dildo social ladder, coming ever closer to the inner sanctum that is the eye of the tittle-tattle tornado. There’s an old saying that I will decorate a little bit with my own language.  If someone is telling you all sorts of weird, private, fucked up shit about someone else you’d be a complete knob head to believe they weren’t telling everyone else about your own fucked up shit – because we all have some. Oh, and you will tell them your fucked up shit because the one thing about having a drama dildo as your new best friend is that they will encourage you to tell them everything, because of course, as you know – they won’t tell a single fucking person now, will they?

If you want drama in your life, join a fucking theatre and do it the proper way. Because once a drama dildo gets you, fucks you, turns you over and fucks you again and then gets you to lick the spoon, once they’re done stirring your shit with it – it’s too late.  Identify them early and stay away. Oh, they’ll still talk about you because wangwads will never let anything resembling the truth get in the way of being the centre of attention in dramasville. If you do have some time to spare though and really want to fuck with them, which I do at times – often assisted by wine – throw some fake shit their way and sit back and enjoy.  I’d suggest something like saying, within earshot ‘Don’t tell anyone but I just got hired to do porno because I have such an abnormally large cock’.  That’s how you can create your very own fucked up history and become a legend of your own making.

Much love from your Badass Auntie

Dear CK,

I had a lovely little chat with your brother today about people who love drama all around them. As you’re a newborn and you’re already the centre of attention every time you whine or wail, you’re actually the living epitome of drama princess in the making.  It’s entirely up to the adults in your life to make sure that at some point you learn a few very important things to ensure you do not grow up to be incredibly annoying. This is particularly difficult as you live in a society of entitlement – a place where people expect to be able to park their car no more than twenty feet from the shop entrance, assume that no matter how rude they are, people who work in shops and restaurants have to take it and where throwing a complete and utter shit fit melt down will inevitably get you what you want.

With the advent of the internet, being able to have shit fit melt downs has turned into a combination of art form and spectator sport. Someone can whine and complain because their local wholefoods didn’t have the organic yoghurt they wanted that day and within twenty four hours they’ll be on the local news. A now dead artist called Andy Warhol (who was shot by a woman, who wrote something called the S.C.U.M. Manifesto, but wasn’t killed) once talked about everyone getting their fifteen minutes of fame. In this day and age, Badass Auntie, who has not yet been shot, is talking about everyone getting their fifteen minutes of whining.

Because attention is now a currency. It used to be that the word ‘whore’ was used to describe people who had sex for money. Nowadays you’ll find it’s far more commonly used to describe people who seek out attention for um….attention. Attention whores sell their self esteem for the modern day currency of going viral. Ironically, in the past when you connected the words ‘whore’ and ‘viral’ something completely different came to mind, but as we evolve in our needs, so does our language.

Attention is the currency of the modern day and everyone craves it. They want it and they judge their whole fucking worth based upon it. Even I am victim to this new age of whoredom. Fifty years ago, if I wrote these letters, I’d be lucky if you even read them. Then they’d either be tossed in the bin or tied up with little ribbons and stored in a trunk in the attic. Maybe one day, when you grew up, you’d read them again and feel guilty that I died sad and lonely soaked in my own urine and you’d wonder if I would have not left everything to the local dog shelter if you’d just been a bit nicer to me…but I digress.

I am now able to monitor, hour by hour, how much attention I’m getting by writing these letters to you. Quite frankly, were I a really desperate attention whore, your existence would matter little, if at all. In fact, I could even be writing to imaginary offspring of an imaginary sibling. But the give away on that one is that I don’t use your names – not to protect your privacy, but just because I’m not particularly a fan of the choices your parents made in naming you.

The truth is that I got plenty of attention when I was younger and it happened before whoring for attention became so easy. So, truly, I got spoiled and now don’t need it anymore. Well, not much. But what I know now is that all I have to do is have a major meltdown on the internet and magically, attention will appear. In fact, the more melodramatic my Facebook posts are, the more attention I receive. If I make a post saying ‘Yay. Everything is going well. I’m happy, healthy, relatively stress free and having no relationship problems’, I’ll get very little attention. Which is odd, because in the old usage of the word ‘whore’, the whole point was to make your customers happy and making them feel good.

Not in this day and age. Everyone sits online and watching the news waiting for the next disaster. If there hasn’t been some sort of god awful carnage with death and destruction everywhere, then people are more than satisfied if their friends complain vociferously about the local utilities. They empathise and join in the bitch fest with glee. If our phone breaks, gets lost or stolen, they will write essays in empathy.

The interesting thing is that the attention you get is completely disproportionate to the level of attention you deserve. As soon as a loved one or pet dies, all you get are a series of emoji sad faces and ‘I’m so sorry’. Hey, I do it too. Even though most of us have suffered some sort of terrible loss in our lives, just at the time our friends need attention most, all we can get together is a meme and emoji or a well practised noise that sounds sympathy like.

1st watermelon (2)

Your Tia (who I will tell you about one day) demonstrating how to care for a real friend in need. Note, no sad face emojis.

People are odd things. They love other people’s tragedies. They love talking about them, gossiping about them, forming opinions about them and sharing them secretly with friends who won’t keep secrets. But, it seems, they truly love other people’s whining, bitching and moaning expressions of entitlement even more because they are damned well going to comment on those things and share their related personal experiences in an attempt to reach out and let the person know that they’ve got their back – not when they have just broken up with their husband after 25 years , not when they are in the hospital with a heart attack, not when their beloved dog has died but on that dreadful day that the fucking bastard in front of them didn’t overtake that slowly moving lorry when they were on their way to a baby shower. Oh my fucking god.

So, my guidance to you, my little baby niece, who will continue to be a baby on the day that everyone will be spending shitloads of money on crap they don’t need to celebrate the birth of another baby thousands of years ago, who may or may not have existed, is this. Be a good friend. Don’t shit stir. Don’t be a drama dildo. Be the sort of friend who is there when the going gets tough and who kicks your mates into shape when they are whining about ridiculous stuff. Whether or not you believe in the baybee Geezus, you’re only going to get one shot at being CK.

Attention is not a currency and you, my lovely niece will not be an attention whore. If you’re going to be a whore, be a proper one and enjoy it, but never think that platitudes from strangers who will never be there for you when the going gets really tough has one iota of meaning or value. And, most certainly the number of people who claim to like you or want to know you is no reflection of your value in this world.

Know that when the going gets fucking shit, and there will be times it will, the people who really matter, the people who laugh when you bitch and whine because you dropped your fucking ipad down the toilet – they’ll be the ones who will pick you up, dust you off and make sure that you make it through until the it’s time to celebrate the birth of the baybee fuckin Geezus again.  The rest of those sploogebags just keep you hanging on the line so that when they are next craving their fix of attention, you’ll be there to provide it. Because these days it seems, a friend in need is a friend who gets a sad face emoji, while the complete stranger three thousand miles away who may have gotten fired for reading a gay book in school is a friend who requires phone calls, letters, petitions and several hours of your time.  Your real friends are precious and they will be few.  Nurture them, treasure them, love them, fuck with them, get drunk with them and always have their backs because that sort of old fashioned friendship is one of the few things that have real worth in this life. The rest of them, they can go suck a drama dildo.

Much love from your Badass Auntie





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