Mel is the Chris Angel of New Years Eve revellers. She wears far too much make-up and the entire night is just a carefully orchestrated show to reveal the grand illusion at the end – to trick her followers into thinking she’s a VIP.
One could argue that having to buy a “VIP” ticket to the event you’re going to probably means you fall outside the true definition of “ very important” but that doesn’t deter Mel. After all, would some loser pleb tag the maker of the dress she will be wearing tonight in her pre-event post? Checkmate, reality.
There are still many hours before the garish limousine her plastic friends have organised arrives so she must focus on her 2020 reflection post. If she’s honest, the general heinousness of 2020 has made for a perfect cover to hide her lack of personal progress.
She decides to post about this vague “empire” she is building and how 2020 may have slowed her down but it will never contain the beast inside. She includes the caption on a photo of herself proudly displaying her superannuation tiddy job and lips that are now classed as non-biodegradable.
Mel Snapchats the entire limo journey from Canning Vale to Leederville. Her and the real housewives of skinny tea town are ballin’ and she isn’t going to let that go unnoticed. She enters the event and scopes out her competition while drinking her complimentary glass of bottom shelf bubbly.
While boring an Aldi-version Bachelorette contestant with her new year’s resolutions she spots a fellow empire builder wearing the same dress. It’s only 6 pm but Mel decides to deploy her first attention-seeking crying episode in the toilets.
After a short 45minutes of self-absorbed indulgence, she decides to bravely ignore the fact someone is wearing the same dress and party on. Someone get her a Victoria Cross. Courage has been redefined.
Although she’s putting on a brave face, her inner tempest is raging and to suppress the mighty shit-storm she necks champagne like a divorcee at happy hour. It’s a bold strategy especially given she hasn’t eaten all day to look good in the now controversial dress.
Instead of socialising like a normal person, she spends the majority of the party serenading her besties’ eardrums with the blubbering sounds of sloppy nothings. Alas, her deep & meaningful have to take a quick pause as the countdown to NYE is approaching.
If she doesn’t get the best footage of the countdown then her night will truly be ruined. However, while trying to set the right filter, she drops her phone and only manages to get it going at about the 5-second mark.
Like a hysterical booze-giraffe, she clumsily tries to get to the DJ booth to stop the countdown. She’s too late and enters into a level 5 influencer frenzy as she demands the DJ does the countdown again.
She is causing quite the scene and her friends drag her away as she demands a recount to a prize she’s never going to win. What a failure, all her footage is trash, she’s vomited on her dress and her lips are as untouched as a Wuhan kissing booth employee.
All that’s left is to manipulate some simp into paying for her Uber that will be surcharging harder than a fiending bull at a meth-ador. What a wonderful night NYE is.