Natharsha’s 2023 is off to a flying start. She has already lost 5kg from her pinga-fest and even woke up with her arms wrapped around the only constant rock in her life: the toilet bowl.
After serenading her housemates with the song of her stomach lining, Natharsha was ready to be her best self, take 2023 by the horns and ride it like a stolen Commodore. She announces her intentions:
“2022 was pre-shit lol, 2023 is the year of Tarsh!!! There are dreamers, doers and then there is ME, new year new ME. Oh and no hate, I ain’t bout that life, so if you are a jealous bishes you’re getting blocked in 2023! You do you (and be extra), and I do me.”
Why does everyone born in the 2000s talk like an idiot? Oh well with any luck, her No.1 “hater”, her father, may even stop staring into the dead abyss of parental failure when asked about her, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
After briefly glancing through a copy of The Barefoot Investor her mum got her for Christmas she opens up a new savings account. Feeling like the Warren Buffet of low fixed interest rates she turns her mind to filling it.
Obviously, traditional pursuits such as education or employment are off the cards. It’s not like she’s looked into it or anything she is just fairly convinced by the wealth of memes she’s read that boomers have doomed her to a life of side hustling.
Unfortunately, her current “side hustle” isn’t a big money earner. Who would’ve thought messaging bars and asking if she can drink for free in exchange for “exposure” to her 1000 followers wouldn’t pay off? Things are getting dire and she is barely holding off the barbarians of Afterpay & Nimble from storming her gates.
To make matters worse she doesn’t have any more second-hand clothing to flog off on Facebook, and her boyfriend dumped her for sponging up his shit like a ShamWow infomercial.
Then it dawns on her if all the men gawking at her were dollars she’d be as loaded as a Clive’s plate at Sizzler. It is so obvious, she embraces the spirit of bobs & vagene and starts plugging her OF’s account.
Her first and most obvious problem is she doesn’t have any fans to begin with. Her second problem would why would someone pay to see her in a bikini? Her Instagram is a narcissistic shrine to her self-worship and shows off more skin than a serial killer’s mask collection.
Where there is a will there is a way and she manages to wrangle a few dudes who have been putting in work in her Instagram comments section for many years. A collection of perverts who are so thirsty they make a vulture-stalked African child look hydrated. $30 a month man, she’s balling.
Well, there you have it, a savings account, pinga induced malnourishment and no financial security. She’s nailed her targets like she had DK mode activated in Goldeneye.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?