Am I being catfished?

Hello beautiful people. Insert random complaint about the weather here. Just kidding. But I did notice I do that a lot. Like I’m trying to make small talk with myself. If I were a straight dude, I’d say, “Hot enough for ya?” If I were a true southern belle I’d say, “Lord a’mighty, tis awfully warm this morn, and I just know it’s gonna be a scortcha of a day.”

But I am a moody gay man/drag queen, so I will just say it’s hot as balls and try not to use the word “moist” when complaining about the heat. Some of y’all just hate that word — moist. One last time: moist.

These past few weeks I have apparently become incredibly attractive. My DMs have been blowing up.

Now, as a drag queen, I get the regular pervs, usually from other countries, messaging me on Instagram or Facebook telling me, “U sexy,” or “Want to talk to you,” or, my favorite, “Show me dat hole!”

All just so romantic. They really know how to make a girl feel special.

Unfortunately, I do not get the random dick pics that some of my sisters get. Granted, I have a husband who would immediately get shown said dick pic, and we would judge the wang accordingly.

So last week I hosted an underwear auction at JR.’s. It was so much fun — beautiful men in little undies runnin’ around everywhere! Later that night I get a text message sent directly to my actual phone number. It said, “James?” I figured it was one of my friends that got a new phone and a new number, so I replied, “Yes? Who dis?” (Because I am young and hip, and that’s how us kids talk nowadays.)

He said his name was Drew and asked for me to show him a pic of myself. I said, “You first!” He sent me a pic of a very handsome, thick and muscular daddy. Now if you know me — well, let’s just say I have a type, and this pic checked quite a few of my boxes.

I then told him, “Look dude, I ain’t what you are looking for. I’m nearly 50, happily married and a drag queen.” He immediately says that’s cool; he’d fuck a drag queen. Like I said, romantic.

Now I am convinced I’m being catfished.

I ask, “How did you get my number?” “Someone at JR.’s gave it to me,” he answered.

The conversation continues: “Have we ever met?” “I’ve been to your shows, now show me your face.” I said, “Maybe another time, goodnight.” I left him hanging until I can figure out who is trying to catfish me and why.

When I reverse-look-up the phone number, it is for a 108-year-old lady named Victoria in Haskell, Texas. Screw you, Vicky. What do you really want? My mother’s maiden name? My first pet’s name? My childhood nickname (which BTW was faggot)?

What, Vicky? Answer me, you old bitch!

Then a few days later on Insta (Instagram, for you non hipsters), I get a message from a guy with no pic, no posts and no followers asking if I like straight guys. I say, “Sure; they are great.” Apparently, he is into drag queens, too. I tell him the same thing I told the other guy about being nearly 50 and happily married. He says, “That’s cool, now send me a pic of your face.” Blocked.

Is this some new scam that I don’t know about? Is someone trying to get me to say something scandalous or inappropriate so they can show my husband or blackmail me? Should I engage and see what I can find out, or should I just block ’em all?

I should send them pics of nearly-famous actors to see if they notice, and if they ask for salacious photos of me, I will send pics of crazy, deformed penises — like the guy with two dicks.

Part of me thinks it is someone I know fucking with me or some bored bitch with no life trying to find some relevancy. It might be a robot.

That would be cool if it was a robot. Not a robocall situation, but an actual robot sitting in front of a computer, whose only directive is to fuck with me. I’d be so flattered if my biggest nemesis was an actual evil genius that had the time, money and know-how to build a robot and program it to slightly annoy me. (I watch to much sci-fi bullshit.)

How does anyone get catfished in this day and age? They literally have a show about nothing but sad people being catfished. I think it’s called Fishtank. (If you have never watched the documentary called Catfish, you should. It’s kinda crazy and sad.)

I probably should not have written about this. What if Drew or my Instagram stalker read my articles? They will know I am on to them. If either of y’all are reading this, you should send me a check for $10,000, and I will send it back to you as a money order or in gift cards. I’m also gonna need your social and a valid I.D. Once I have all of that information, I will send you all of the pics you want of my handsome (your word not mine) face.

Ru-veal yourself, and find out.

Y’all be careful out there on the innanets. There are a lot of bored crazies out there. And to anyone else that wants to slide into my DMs, start with a dick pic — or I won’t even bother.

Remember to always love more, bitch less and be fabulous! XOXO, Cassie Nova