Haters Gonna Hate free porn video

Have you ever met anyone that you truly despise? I’m not one of those girls that pretends they don’t hate. I’m a hater for sure and I’m proud to admit it. I hate people who were born with a silver spoon in their mouth. I hate people that were handed everything on a plate. I hate people who think they’re better than everyone else, and I especially hate celebrities and influencers.

What is the thing with influencers? I just don’t get it. Why do these people think they deserve to be paid just to show off to everyone else? Oh, look at me, I’m on holiday again and I didn’t pay a penny for it! God, it riles me so much. They prance around in their skimpy outfits with their perfectly sculpted bodies and they think we commoners should all just bow before them. It’s infuriating, they literally get paid to take selfies.

I think part of my rage is due to working so god-damned-hard for such crappy pay. I work in Burger Station, that’s right, and I’m not ashamed to say so, because I work bloody hard. Often, I’ll pull double-shifts just so I can meet my monthly expenses. After rent, bills, food and everything else, I’m basically left with piss-all. It’s a modern tragedy and one I am completely trapped in. It’s just so unfair! I’m constantly tired and aching, yet I’m barely surviving.

If that wasn’t bad enough, what do I come home to? That’s right, in the short amount of time I actually get to relax, I flick through Instagram, and what do I see? Influencer after influencer, living it up in their perfect little worlds and barely lifting a finger in the process. It makes me spit. The hate and frustration I feel is mind-numbing. I loathe these people with every fibre of my being. Do I wish I was pretty and rich? Of course, I do, but I’m not, and it’s so unfair.

Working so much also means my love life is pretty much non-existent. I can’t remember the last time I actually had a boyfriend or even went on a date. A fast food restaurant is hardly the best place to pick up guys either. So, when I see these other pretty girls scooping up all the decent guys, it makes me seethe.

So, what do I do? Well, I hate of course. I troll them with as much venom as I can muster. Influencer after influencer gets a double-barrel of vitriol from me night after night. Vulgar comments on their photos. Criticism in their DM’s. It’s the only way I can make myself feel better and it’s clearly what they deserve. Thanks to the internet, I can do it anonymously and air my frustrations without any consequences. I actually see it as a way of bringing balance to the world. That’s my true job; to bring a dose of reality to this delusional bunch in their vanity lair.

I see a girl posing in her bikini? I question if her tummy is photoshopped.

A girl smiling for a selfie? I ask if her nose is real.

My comments aren’t outright abuse. I just phrase them well enough to sow doubt. To put a little idea in the back of their heads that maybe they aren’t quite as perfect as they think. I’m an expert at it by this point. If I manage to make their smiles disappear for a single minute, then that’s a minute in the world that I’m happier. When one actually reacts, that’s the highlight of my day. I even have a bunch of fake accounts that I used specifically for trolling. I’d say it’s my number one hobby and I’m completely addicted to it.

~~~~

One such night, I was flicking through Instagram, looking for my newest trolling victim when I came across something that made me freeze. My thumb was stuck hovering above the screen; this was a profile I’d never seen before. She had four million followers and she was from my hometown! Next to her username, changeyourlifewithtabitha, was that verified blue tick. Woohoo, a verifiable bimbo!

All of the influencers I trolled were usually abroad or from one of the big cities. I actually trembled in excitement at the thought of being able to bring someone back down to Earth that lived so close to home. Wow, imagine I upset her and then some day actually saw her out and about in public? It would be such a rush knowing I’d put her in her place and she didn’t even realise it was me. Like an internal victory. I was already rubbing my hands together at the opportunity.

The girl’s name was Tabitha Fitzroy-Smythe, which seemed like the typical spoiled, ‘posh girl’ name. Evidently, she came from a background of wealth prior to her ‘influencing’ endeavour, which just made me loathe her even more. She was rich and could sit around doing nothing. However, that wasn’t enough for perfect little Tabitha, was it? She expected to be paid to do it.

She was in her late teens and her profile appeared to be focused around life coaching. She was very good looking, tall, slim, and had flawless tanned skin. She was basically everything I wasn’t. There were lots of selfies, so many selfies of this blonde-haired halfwit with her big blue eyes and perfectly applied makeup. Everything seemed so fake and posed. Each shot structured and orchestrated to make herself the centre of attention. She couldn’t just see a puppy in the street, she had to hold it up for a selfie and make it an event. Going for a coffee was a photo opportunity and passing her driving test required a sponsorship.

A lot of photos appeared like she’d waited for everyone else to leave so she was the only person there. More likely, she’d badgered the staff into clearing all of the ‘normal’ people out so this superstar could have it all to herself. If it was a vacation photo, she was dressed up in boho gear in numerous relaxing poses, sunbathing on the beach or staring off into the distance in frilly skirts and headbands. If she was in the gym, she was wearing sports brand names with her hair styled perfectly, not a drop of sweat in shot. Food was untouched, probably dumped straight after the photo. If she was reading a book, I noticed she was always on the first page.  Everything was carefully focused towards her ‘brand’ and the falseness infuriated me.

I clicked her most recent photo. It was a mirror-selfie of her posing in a new, expensive bikini and had over a hundred, thousand likes. She was winking at herself above a self-satisfied smirk. The bikini resembled dental floss and snugly wrapped her ample bosom and toned naval. The caption read: hard work pays off. Beneath the image were thousands of comments saying how amazing she looked and what a great body she had. Line after line of praise and worship.

The absurdity made me shake with rage. What the hell did this little scamp know about hard work? She didn’t look like she’d done a proper day’s work in her life. Hard work to her was putting on a bikini and taking a photo? She should try a day in my shoes and see how she gets on.

I looked at my own profile. My most recent picture, a photo of me exhausted in my work uniform, had no likes. Not even one pitiful like. Not even from my own mother, who I knew for sure was following me. This was just so damn unfair! How could a girl like this Tabitha be so popular compared to me? She was basically a celebrity, and from a quick browse through her posts, it seemed she was being paid to promote stuff constantly. Clothes, makeup, jewellery, nutritional supplements, everything was being handed to her on a plate. How the hell could she call herself a life coach? What was her message exactly? Do nothing and get everything for free? Cruise through life thanks to your divine nepotism? What was her contribution to society other than just showing off to everyone else about how pretty and perfect her life was?

Between the product adverts, there were endless photos of her flaunting her expensive clothes, her brand-new car or relaxing around her beautiful home. She was still a bloody teenager! So damn unfair indeed! I clicked a photo of her standing happily outside a detached house and holding a set of keys. I wanted to scream as I read the caption: just bought my first home, mortgage-free at 19! Hard work pays off. Go me!

My eyes were wide and the rage was boiling. What planet was this girl on? Hard work was scrubbing a greasy kitchen for twelve hours a day, not posting pretty pictures of yourself on social media. But there were millions of followers lapping it up and giving her the attention she so clearly craved. This was the callous, shallow world we seemed to live in. I had no intention of applauding her vanity.

I opened another of her photos. This one was even more annoying. She was at the airport, and there was a pile of Louis Vuitton suitcases in shot. It was taken from her point of view and you could see she was holding a cocktail. Her bare feet were crossed as she used the luggage as a footrest. Her toes were freshly glossed with a french pedicure and there was not a wrinkle or dried skin in sight. On her ankle was a shiny bracelet. It was too far away to see the detail but one of her tags was #tiffany which said it all. She was the most spoiled and pampered influencer I’d come across so far. I was actually surprised I’d only just found her, especially since we were from the same hometown.

The photo rattled me on so many levels. Firstly, the caption: so tired, can barely stomach an 8-hour flight, thankfully I never fly eco. It was the most blatant of humblebrags. Oh, poor little tired Tabitha, so tired she was, sat in the airport with her feet up on her expensive luggage while she sipped a cocktail, waiting for her luxury flight. Heaven forbid she’d ever have to fly with the rest of the cattle in economy.

And the feet, God, the feet were infuriating. Who even did that in public anyway? What kind of entitled brat propped up their bare feet in the airport lounge like they owned the place? All the while blinding everyone with the sparkly display of wealth on her ankle.

The comment tab popped up and I let fly with my usual snippet of hate.

Me: Oh, look at you, Tabitha, aren’t you just little miss perfect? You’re so much better than me! We should all be bowing at your feet!

I added a rolling eyes emoji and clicked submit. Job done and I already felt a lot better about myself. I was hoping she’d read it and realise how completely full of shit she was.

~~~~

The next day, I woke up and checked my phone like I usually did before work. I had a notification on Instagram. This was odd, I hardly ever had notifications as no one ever messaged me or liked any of my photos and people tended to just report the comments from my fake trolling accounts. I opened the app and saw that Tabitha had liked my comment. What? She’d actually noticed my comment amongst the thousands of others, and liked it? And what did she even like about it? She must have surely realised that it was full of sarcasm. I checked to see if she’d actually replied to the comment, but there was nothing. No message in my DM’s either, and she hadn’t blocked me or anything. Liking the comment was bizarre and peculiar. 

I reasoned that perhaps she was more of an airhead than I first thought. Maybe my wit had flown completely over her dim head and she figured I was actually paying her a compliment. I opened up the message tab and shared a screenshot of my comment under her photo.

Me: That was sarcasm, just in case your dumb brain didn’t get that.

I sent off the message. This bimbo was the gift that kept on giving and I was going to have so much fun tormenting her. I was full of spirits as I headed into work.

Later in the day, I was taking a much-needed break when a reply popped up.

Tabitha: Sarcasm? No, it was the truth.

I was quite surprised she had actually messaged me. This wasn’t a common response to trolling, especially from someone with so many followers. An influencer liking my comment was one thing, but actually replying to a message? Unheard of. I felt the adrenaline pumping me up as I typed back immediately, my greasy fingers tapping against my phone screen with venom.

Me: How’d you figure? I was trolling you. Are you so dumb that you actually need to have trolling explained to you? Is your brain as bland as your photoshopped pics? It’s hilarious how up your own ass you are. Look at me! Look at me! I'm little miss perfect, Tabitha! Everyone loves me! I’m so much better than you mere humans. Bow before your superior queen!

I expected her to block me. That’s usually how these trolling episodes would end once I entered their DMs. I was actually enjoying giving this delusional girl a reality check. It was enough to perk me up for the rest of my workday. I bit into my burger and awaited her devastated response. I had big plans with how I was going to take this further until she was a defeated wreck. I could cycle through my fake accounts going after her one at a time. I could probably drag this out for months.

Suddenly, a new message popped up. Tabitha had sent me nothing more than a crying with laughter emoji. That was unexpected. A crying emoji I could understand, but not with the laughing part. What was so funny? I was giving her a dose of reality and she was just laughing back in my face. She had to be the dumbest influencer I had ever come across, completely separated from the reality of her banal existence. Didn’t she understand that her whole persona was fake?  I was going to pick apart every aspect of her personality, or lack of it, piece by piece.

Before I could fire off yet another nasty retort, an extra message came through.

Tabitha: I checked your profile, Meg Stevens. How’s being Burger Station employee of the month? It’s definitely the truth and we both know it.

My mouth hung on my burger mid-bite. My stomach sank and my legs began to tremble. My teeth were chattering in my mouth amongst half-chewed beef. Had I actually been that stupid? I had to double check, but, yes, I had messaged her from my real account, not one of my fake ones. How the hell had that happened? I must have been so eager to troll her the day before that I forgot to switch accounts. My profile had been public the whole time and she could see everything. My real name, age, where I was from and where I worked. Plus, there were so many selfies of me on there and she now knew what I looked like. I wasn’t a good-looking girl at all, that’s kind of why I trolled in the first place. I felt violated and exposed. I didn’t have a clue what to write back.

Tabitha: What’s wrong, Meg? Can’t think of anything clever to say? Come on, I’m waiting in anticipation for your next witty response.

She wasn’t wrong. I was speechless and didn’t know how to react at all. I was an expert troll when I thought I was anonymous, but I’d accidentally revealed who I was and suddenly my faux confidence had evaporated. That wasn’t even the worst of it. I lacked self-esteem in my own skin and she knew what I looked like. The armour of my trolling-persona had been ripped away and I was agonisingly naked beneath. How could I insult or attack her appearance when I looked like I did?

“Oh, God, Meg, what have you done?” I said out loud.

I looked at myself in a mirror across the break room: a chubby face with acne clinging to my cheeks, beneath greasy hair poking out of my work cap. I had to wipe the sweat from my brow and I thought about deleting my account right there and then. How did I even do that? Right at that moment my fingers were shaking so much that I couldn’t even type out a response, never mind flee the scene.

My head was burning up through the intensity and I could hardly settle on a coherent thought, and yet, the messages kept coming.

Tabitha: So, I can see which Burger Station you work at, the one in Kingston, right? Nice of you to tag it in one of your photos. How’s serving fries all day long, Meg?

She was working so fast, and I was rapidly losing control of the situation. Every time my panicking brain came up with a solution, Tabitha had already closed it off and moved onto the next attack.

Tabitha: Tell me why I shouldn’t call and get you fired?  I should tell them all about how you bully and harass people online. You think your manager would be happy about your behaviour, Meg?

A separate notification popped up.

Tabitha took a screenshot!

Seconds later, she sent me the screenshot of my own message saying she was up her own ass, my name and photo right there next to it. I was wearing my bloody work hat in my profile picture and you could see the company logo clear as day. Christ, if I’d been thinking straight I could have deleted it before she did that, but I was rattled and missed my chance.

Tabitha: So, I see amongst the whopping ten people following you there’s an Annette Stevens. Is that your mom? Should I tell her what you’ve been doing?

Oh my God. I was so out of my depth it was unreal. In a matter of minutes, I’d gone from being on the attack to completely trapped with no way out. Multiple scenarios were flipping through my head, none of which had good outcomes. I was going to be fired from my job, for sure, with a likely side-order of public disgrace. My mom would be furious and disappointed in me. If Tabitha went public, maybe other victims of my trolling would recognise the similarities and come forward. With the number of followers, she had, tied with her young age, she could easily get the media interested. Also, my hating on Tabitha was tame compared to some of the vitriol I’d spewed to other influencers in the past. What if the authorities traced everything to my phone and IP address? I was in so far over my head that I was genuinely worried that my whole world was about to come crashing down, all because this teen influencer had called me out.

Suddenly, my manager walked into the break room, holding the phone.  He looked confused. “Umm, Meg, there’s someone on the phone for you? They said it’s urgent.”

I gulped and took the phone in a daze. This couldn’t really be happening, could it?

“Hi, Meg,” said the voice through the phone. It was young, feminine and well-spoken, and oh so confidently posh. “You want to chat? Or should I just talk to your manager instead?”

I was still tempted to hang up the phone, delete my account and disappear. But she already had a screenshot of my trolling with my name and face all over it. What would I do if she showed up to my workplace with a print out? She might only live down the block. I reasoned that at this stage, appeasement was the only option: “Ummm please don’t uh, do that. I really ummm need this job and I can’t ummm do anything else.” My stammer was abundantly clear over the phone, which was part of the reason why I spent so much time online.

“You can’t do anything other than flip burgers? Well, that’s tragic. Anyway, tell me, why are you bothering me online then? What have I ever done to you?” I wondered whether she was enjoying tormenting me as much as I enjoyed trolling.

“Umm, I don’t know. Uh.”

“Not good enough. I want to know why you think it’s appropriate to harass a young girl over the internet.”

To be honest, I didn’t really know why I did it. It made me feel good about myself to put others down? “Ummm I guess because I was uh...jealous of uh, you?”

She laughed. “Well that makes sense from looking at your profile, burger girl. Apologise to me then.”

“Ummm I’m uh sorry, okay.”

“Nuh uh, do it properly. Say, sorry, Tabitha, for being jealous of you.”

I repeated the words back robotically. “Ummm, sorry, Tabitha, for, uh, being jealous of you.”

“Really? Are you really sorry about being a nasty, jealous hater?”

“Umm yes, Tabitha, I really am uh, sorry.” My voice was ascending to a trembling whine. It almost sounded like a kettle was whistling in the break room.

“Tell me what you are.”

It took me a moment to realise what she wanted me to say. “I’m a uh nasty, a nasty, jealous ummm hater.”

“Now, why are you so jealous of me, Meg?”

“Umm I guess because you’re so much, ummm, uh, prettier than me and you ummm, seem to have uh, everything.”

I swear I heard her cover the phone, followed by a muffled laugh. “Is that my fault?”

“Umm, no.”

“Then why do you feel you have the right to abuse me?”

I honestly didn’t have a clue how to answer. I’d never before been confronted for my trolling and I was running on adrenaline, living second to second. Everything seemed to be moving so fast in my head and I had no exit strategy. “Uh, I don’t. Umm, I’m sorry. I won’t uh, do it again, I umm, I swear.”

Meanwhile, Tabitha remained completely calm. “Prove how sorry you are. Go like all of my photos.”

She had to be kidding. She had so many photos and it would take forever. “Ummm, what? I uh, already uh, said sorry. Why do I, umm, have to do, uh, that?”

“Because I said so.”

“But that will take me ummm ages! I only have a few minutes left of my, ummm, uh, my, ummm, break.”

“Well then, you better be quick. I’ll wait while you do it. If those notifications don’t start blowing up my phone then I’m coming to speak to your manager.”

I accepted I was in no position to argue. My workplace could replace me in an heartbeat and a company as big as Burger Station wouldn’t want to deal with the fallout of such bad publicity. I envisioned the headlines already: local burger employee harasses popular teen influencer online.

I opened Tabitha’s profile. She had over a thousand photos! It would take me forever to go through and like them all. Even so, I began rampantly hitting like one at a time, while sweat trickled down my cheeks. I almost felt like I was trying to disarm a nuclear bomb, such was the intensity.

I could hear Tabitha giggling through the speakerphone, as no doubt the notifications popped up. “That’s it, keep it going,” she said in her posh accent, like a slave master whipping me into action. “You know, for someone that’s supposed to hate me, you’re liking a hell of a lot of my photos.”

It was a tortuous process too. Each time I opened a photo, I had a whole new reason for why she was so great shoved in my face, along with her annoying, fake smile. Endless snapshots of Tabitha enjoying luxurious vacations, designer goods, beautiful friends and expensive food. One after one I hit like on them all. I almost fell into a mindless zone as I tapped the screen repetitively. Finally, with my finger stiff and about to cramp up, I liked her first ever photo: an image of Tabitha on her sixteenth birthday, riding the pony she’d received as a gift.

“Okay, ummm I’ve liked them all,” I spluttered through the phone.

“Great, I can see that. Now, one more thing. Shout out that photo you commented on. I want to see it in your story and write your lovely message under it: You’re so much better than me, Tabitha! I should be bowing at your feet!”

God, was she being serious? I had my family and the few people that I could actually call friends following me, and she expected me to just announce to the world that I thought she was better than me?

“Uh, ummm please don’t make me, uh, do that.”

“Do it,” she said. I could hear her husky breath tickling the receiver. “They’re your words after all. Own them.”

I didn’t want to do it, but what choice did I really have?  I did as instructed, hoping that this was the final demand. “I’ve, umm, I’ve, umm, I’ve done it.” I just wanted the whole ordeal to be over. Honestly, I was completely exhausted from the apprehension she was putting me through.

“Yep, I can see that too. Good. You better keep it there for the whole 24 hours, and keep your profile public. I’ll be checking. Let this be a lesson to you. Don’t ever mess with me again. Who the hell do you think you are? Bow at my feet? Haters like you should be licking my feet!  You can have this life coaching for free! Now, go away and ummm, uh, ummm, uh, get a life!” And just like that she’d hung up the phone.

I sat motionless in the break room. My appetite had disappeared and I couldn’t stomach another mouthful of my burger. Everything had happened so fast that I could barely comprehend it. I’d been trounced, well and truly trounced by this teen influencer, and she’d been strategic and efficient at every moment. I’d come to troll her and had my ass handed to me. Even now she could still destroy me with a mere phone call to my boss. I was completely at her mercy and I realised that I wasn’t in control of my own fate: Tabitha was. She knew everything about me and she had the dirt on me to expose and destroy me. I felt completely helpless.

But there was another feeling that was making my limbs tingle. The whole ordeal had barely lasted fifteen minutes but the experience had been exhilarating. I’d been trembling in panic throughout, high on adrenaline and terrified where it was going to lead. My stomach shuddered on the brink of throwing up, yet, it was an awakening sensation. It was almost as if I was living a horror movie and I’d never before been that scared. For the first time in my life, I’d actually felt alive, like I wasn’t just an empty vessel coasting through life and there was blood flowing through my veins. Tabitha had well and truly put me in my place, and I’d been enthralled by her mastery throughout. I hated her more than ever, not only because of what she stood for, but because of what she seemed to be awakening within me. I had trolled her because she thought she was better than everyone else, and she’d swiftly demonstrated that in my case, she definitely was.

~~~~

When I returned home that night, I opened my phone and my mouth dropped. I had over a thousand notifications on Instagram. I couldn’t believe it. So many people had started following me and I even had some messages in my inbox. It turned out Tabitha had shared my story on her page with the caption: I thought haters were supposed to hate? This one seems to love me. Hahaha.

Thousands of people must have seen me saying how much better than me she was and that I wanted to bow at her feet. I looked at my own story, and the views were crazy. I’d never had so much interest in my own profile.

I read through the messages:

Omg, are u a fan of Tabitha too?

Tabitha is so awesome.

Eww, you suck, hater.

Hahaha, are you in love with her or something?

Hell yeah, she’s better than you, you ugly whale.

Tabitha rules!

Ha, what a loser! You wanna bow at my feet too?

I ignored them all without response. I didn’t have a clue how to defend myself. I thought about making my profile private or deleting the story too, but I was worried about what Tabitha would do if I disobeyed her. She’d been explicitly clear in her instructions. I decided I’d just have to suck up the fallout. After all, I had started this whole thing so I guess this was my comeuppance. If some light public humiliation from a bunch of strangers was the worst of it, then I’d have to get through it.

I tried to think about other stuff. I put my phone down and watched a bit of mindless TV. Anything to distract and steer my thoughts away from the ass-whooping I’d taken.

However, there was something in particular that my mind just kept wandering back to: I should be licking her feet? I could still hear the words in her young, arrogant voice. That random sentence laced with entitlement and expectation. I, a girl ten years her senior, should be licking her feet? That’s what came to her mind when she thought of me. Simply bowing at her feet wasn’t enough, she thought that she was so above me that I should be licking her feet? And she expected that I would do it, just because she said so, who the hell did she think she was?  What a complete brat. I mean, what did that even mean? Lick her feet? It was absurd. Who the hell would lick someone else’s feet?

How would I even do that? I pictured Tabitha, sitting in that airport lounge in her designer clothes and expensive jewellery. Her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail with those blue eyes watching expectantly from behind sunglasses. Sipping a cocktail while her feet were propped up on luggage more expensive than my weekly wage. In contrast, I was kneeling in my burger uniform, licking her French pedicured feet while she gloated above me about how much better she was, mere entertainment for the rich girl before her luxurious flight.

Suddenly, I felt a chill run down my spine and my legs turned to jelly. The thought was so absurd that I could barely comprehend the image. This girl who had everything, expected me, a girl who had nothing, to willingly lick her feet? It was probably the most unfair image I’d ever imagined, but the same tingling feeling returned that I’d felt earlier when she was berating me. It would be so wrong to do it, to lick her feet, but somewhere inside me, there was this strange desire to give in and do this ‘wrong’ thing, just because she wanted it. To lick the feet of one of these influencers that I so completely and utterly despised; this girl who had masterfully made me dance to her tune over the phone. Ugh, the thought made me shiver with excitement. Which was confusing in itself, I mean, why the hell was I even excited by that?

“What the hell is getting into you, Meg?” I said, and I shook away the intrusive thoughts and began settling down for bed.

But sleep that night wasn’t peaceful. Did I dream of bettering myself? No, I dreamt of licking Tabitha’s feet. Licking her feet while she laughed above me and took photos. I woke up in a cold sweat and I had to run to the toilet as I felt queasy. Something in me was changing, and I didn’t like it.