Goodnight, Baby

​The day I got banned from Tinder began as any other day.
I woke up, masturbated in a futile attempt at serotonin production, made my bed, checked my messages:
 
Random white guy in my inbox.
We flirt.
He names a date, time, and location for us to "meet up to see if there’s chemistry, WINK."
 
So, I said, “sounds fun... But, just to make sure, you are politically left, of course? My profile does specify that, and I always have to check.”

He says, “I don’t see why that matters, we’re just talking about a hook up here.”
 
“Yeah, but I can’t blow a Trumper, I’m half Mexican, it’s a whole thing.”
 
“That’s so fucked up that you'd say that! I’m going to report you for hate speech.”
 
“It’s not hate speech not to fuck you.”

No reply.

I went about my life for a while, and the next time I tried to log into Tinder, it told me I was banned.
That’s it. The whole thing.

I mean, it was bound to happen, at some point, I’m genuinely antagonistic of the politically right. The only issue I really take is that it’s NOT hate speech to refuse to fuck someone who won’t vote for your basic rights. It’s actually an act of self-preservation to only copulate with people who back your personhood. It’s survival of the fittest, really; the free market has spoken, and it’s said, ‘no,’ and also, ‘go fuck yourself.’  

I don’t mind so much, really. I’m getting too old for Tinder, anyhow, and I’m kinda’ relieved to shuffle off and take my sad, gray vagina elsewhere. It’s not the end of my pathetic carousing, I promise, but… it IS the end of an era. And, it would be remiss not to pay homage to a platform which has given me so much entertainment, even if the orgasms were few and far between.

So, it is with great sadness that I bid adieu to the “men” of Tinder.
You weren’t sexually satisfying, but you were absolutely hysterical. 
​