Turning 21 used to signify the legal drinking age in Australia. Now it means the start to a brutal attention-seeking endurance event that only the strongest besties will survive.
Cass must first select the party planning committee. An elite group of her “favs” that will swipe daddy’s credit card so many time you’d think they were Chris Gayle on Tinder outside the Walkley Awards.
The #squad look at about 5 different yacht clubs before unbeknownst to Cass, decide on one that made Cass look the fattest.
Next, they go out and buy the staples of basic bitch 21sts: inflatable 2 & 1 balloons, glitter and various name-banners just in case you forgot who’s fucking party you were attending.
$10k later, the party is planned, and one bestie has dropped off along the way. Cass is still fuming, “can you believe she wanted the silver 2 & 1 balloons, do I look like second place to you?” Well judging by your unofficial UWA nickname, “The Last Thot-sort”, we’d wager you slot nicely into the runner-up category.
The next stage in the Cass-a-thon is her actual date of birth. Like a Mayan queen, she sits atop her bed waiting for the digital birthday offerings to be posted upon her Facebook wall. The quality of the collage and sentimental spiel will determine the order of speeches at her 21st.
She is drunk on attention and can’t see an obvious trend emerging. The collages and bestie selfies are almost solely pictures where her mates look like “these fucking 10s”, and she looks like Quasimodo’s ball sack.
That slutty skank (her best friend) got 431 birthday messages last month, and Cass is sitting at a disgusting 250 at the 4pm mark. Needless to say, she is LITERALLY DYING OMG. As a result, she cuts 6 people from the original 20 speech makers list.
Cynth is leading the bestie tally so far and claims pole position for the speeches. Given the sheer volume of tears, it’s difficult to tell whether she is giving a birthday speech or standing in the front row of a Justin Bieber concert.
“Babes, you are honestly such a 10, I don’t know what I’d do without you… *sobs Rolf Harris trial-ly”
An acquaintance invited to boost numbers turns to a mate, “someone get that chick a fucking tampon”. Unfortunately, he spoke just when there was a brief pause in the girl’s babbling diatribe.
The whole fucking party is ruined now. Cass runs off crying, and the disinterested father sees a prime opportunity to reclaim his card from the bar and send these mooching fuckdicks away from his pockets.
The next day, Cass posts a rambling Facebook post about how the party was “lit af”, and it was the best night of her life, accompanied by roughly 320 professionally taken photos from the night.
While her core group of besties form a group chat and talk about what a dickhead Cass was. Yasss.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?