I Catfished My Straight Friends for Fun
You should try it, too. Ms. Holland Tunnel has just the tips.
I’m not saying my time in Indiana was totally boring, but sometimes it felt like the only culture there was agriculture. So when two straight boys burst into my dorm room with excitement in their eyes, I figured maybe something interesting was going to happen. “Did you know there are women on the internet looking for sex?” they asked.
Yes, I did know that. But I followed the boys back to their room anyway.
Pro tip: Avoid Indiana. If its cities, towns, culture, people, and odor (I’m looking at you, Gary) were an album, it’d be by John Mellencamp, and it’d be all skips. I don’t believe anyone there would even dispute this. After all, its state motto is “Crossroads of America” which is giving “Just passing through.” That said, people do give Indiana a bad rap and say all there is is corn. It’s just not true. They also grow soy.
“You gotta see this.” The boys proudly showed me their computer. I was a bit relieved to see that they had, in fact, found the sorts of online boards where real humans were looking for sex, and not some “Hot singles in your area looking to fuck right now” porn popup. They excitedly clicked on personal ad after personal ad, discovering fleshy, horny ladies, who seemed only an email away.
“So what do we do now?” they asked.
“Find someone you are interested in connecting with and say hello,” I explained, like they were 5.
They’d come to me because I was the resident sexually active queer, knowledgeable in the ways of the world. Some people may have called me a slut, but I preferred to think of myself as “sexually cultured.” Being a generous teacher, I decided it was time to educate the children. These boys simply needed the right opening. They were begging to be catfished.
As they continued to read and drool, I got out my phone and logged into my account on the board. I already had one because that particular message board also had queer personal ads. Because I am — what? — cultured.
Pro tip: Always have a separate "ho email" to use for these types of activities that has no connection to your actual name or social media accounts. If you don’t, your trick may find out all the lies you’ve told about yourself. He won’t care that you’re taking a gap year and over 18. All he’ll see is that the school listed on your Facebook is your high school and he’ll bail on the hookup.
I laid my trap as I sat near them, focused, like I was texting something very important to a dear friend:
F4M 21y.o. - Let me be your Kleenex
Make me your tissue. Use me, finish all over me, and throw me away.
Beefy guys a plus. Bring a friend.
Honestly, this was some of my best work: poetic, evocative, direct. I’m such a romantic. For good measure, I Google image searched “boobs,” selected the image with the most dorm-like surroundings, and attached it to my post.
Pro tip: Don’t overthink your pictures. Years back, there was a study that determined the minimum amount of female turkey needed to turn on a male turkey. They started by showing the male turkey a complete female turkey. Turkey boner activated. Then they slowly started hacking away at her, reducing the amount of female body being shown to the male turkeys. Hack one — no wings, no problem! Turkey boner. Hack two — legs? Who needs ’em? Not turkeys! Turkey boner. Ultimately, what they found was that a female turkey head on a stake was sufficient to turn on the male turkeys. Young men are basically turkeys.
At this point, I noticed that the boys had made it through the message board to posts that were a few days old. They couldn’t decide who to poke at. I suggested they refresh, and make a decision closer to the top of the page.
“Let me be your Kleenex? Wow! This chick’s filthy! Check out her boobs! Let’s email her!” They took the bait. No surprise given I’m something of a master baiter.
“Hey beautiful, how’s it going? I saw your post and showed it to my friend. We’re interested in meeting up.” They wrote.
The inclusion of “How’s it going?” is such an amateur move. But I was a pro. “Hey stud! What are you into?” I wrote in reply.
Pro tip: Save the answer to this staple question in the notes app on your phone and thank me later.
We exchanged banter. Some of it wittier than others. (“I can bring a friend.” / “Well call me Emily in Paris because I’m ready to get Eiffel Towered.”) The boys were giddy. They probably had turkey boners, too, but I didn’t stare. I was too busy texting. It’s remarkable how easy it is to catfish someone when you’re in the room with them, hearing every simple thought that pops into their head.
When they started throwing out times for an IRL meetup, I came clean about my little prank. They didn’t murder me (thank god!), and we had a great laugh. It’s lovely how tricking people can bring you closer to them with no consequences.
Pro tip: In a time where we are more disconnected from each other than ever before, I highly recommend everybody try catfishing.
The thing is, the internet is public. So during the short time I was pranking my friends, my inbox had become chock full o’nuts (and dicks). I showed my friends who were astonished by my haul. What were we to do with all these thirsty boys? I decided to double down on my compassionate, generous personality and teach all of them a valuable lesson.
Pro tip: If you send strangers dick pics, they will show their friends. Make peace with that.
There are two primary approaches to catfishing. The first is somewhat elegant and dignified. You affix some bait to a hook and cast a line. The fish bites, and after a little bit of flirtatious back and forth, you reel them in. This is how I’d approached catfishing my friends. We had some fun, I caught them, and I released them.
There’s another method practiced primarily in the Southern United States that is a bit more provocative in nature. Noodling, as it’s called, involves sticking fists in muddy holes. Since Indiana is a slice of the South in the North, it seems only appropriate to pivot to noodling and fist some boys.
With my friends now in on the joke, I proceeded to see how many of these straight men I could drag out of their holes. I replied to every suitor, stroking their egos and offering to stroke other parts, too. I told them to put on ball caps and sunglasses (so I could identify them) and meet me at the smoking tables outside the dorm. We went outside, sat, smoked, and waited.
Very soon after taking our places, the boys, many of them quite beefy, arrived and started circling the tables like sharks. Isn’t it marvelous when the wildlife comes to you? Even with the caps and sunglasses, we could see their faces looking more and more frustrated as time went by and they weren’t finding the buxom woman from the internet.
They sent follow-up messages:
“Where are you?”
“I don’t see you.”
“You’re wasting my time. When I find you I’m going to fucking murder you.”
Boys are so sweet sometimes.
Pro tip: If it is your intention to murder someone, it is a best practice not to inform them in advance. The element of surprise is too valuable.
Many of the boys gave up and swam off, but a couple of them came over and sat with us at the smoking tables, waiting for their mystery Kleenex girl. We joyously told them the story of what we’d done, from beginning to end, acting like we didn’t know why they were there. The boys laughed along to save face.
Poor unfortunate souls.
Holland Tunnel is a Chicago-based drag performer, comedienne, and childless cat lady. She is often self-described as a fierce bitch with a big heart and a bad attitude. Holland lives to teach vital life skills to the people because they need them. During the day she gets in drag as her character Sam Laubach — a freelance brand strategist, writer, and comedian.
The pro tips are ridiculously hilarious and on-point.