WORST PREDATOR EVER

or The Hot Dog Thing

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I have a confession…

I made a burner Substack. Allie Sexton. Why? To check up on a few choice accounts that have blocked me during my tenure on the platform.

I snooped. I’m not sorry.

It must’ve been March.

After trolling my own podcast with Allie, telling myself I sucked, I forgot about the account.

On April 17th, I logged back in on a whim. No messages. No notifications. Not that I posted anything, but it was still depressing. And guess who was in my notes feed?

Worst Boyfriend Ever.

I got an idea.

He likes to brag about how women pay him for sex. So I thought, Let’s test that, changing my profile picture to an anime girl I found on Google.

I checked his notes feed to see where he was—as he constantly updates his mob of keyboard-warrior zealots on his travels—and found him in Los Angeles, hitting comedy shows with an endless string of dates. Fuck it, I thought, sending him this ridiculous message—

I wasn’t even trying at this point. Just fishing. I mean, seriously? “Will you fuck me in my asshole?” I didn’t think he’d respond.

But he did.

I’m guessing this wasn’t his first “Will you fuck me in my asshole?” DM.

I went along with it, thinking, Could I send him to a random address in San Francisco? Have him knock on the door and say, “Hello, I’m here to fuck Allie Sexton in the ass.”

No.

Let’s just have some fun with it.

I offered him more money, an outlandish amount, $10,000, to help me fulfill my (Allie’s) deepest sexual fantasy. I wanted it to be something so stupid, so fucking absurd, that he’d know our conversation was bullshit. At least I thought he’d know.

Enter: The Hot Dog Thing—

He jumped at my offer, undeterred by The Hot Dog Thing, immediately sending me his number. Flabbergasted, I created a TextNow number with a San Francisco area code, shot him a message, and the shitstorm started…

My first run-in with Worst Boyfriend Ever, AKA WBE, was back in February when I did a written interview with him.

Just weeks before, he bragged about defrauding his fans for $40k in a Hawk-Tuahesque crypto pump-and-dump scheme.

His brazen indifference to stealing (“rugpulling,” as he put it) from his own audience baffled me. My idea was simple: offer him money for the interview, never pay, and illicit an angry response from him, proving his hypocrisy.

It worked.

The backlash was swift. Droves of WBE supporters descended into my DMs, calling me a “dumb nigger lover” and a “pussy faggot retard,” among other brilliant insults that still haunt me to this day.

It took a while to get over the devastation. (I didn’t shit for a week.)

I didn’t think I’d ever interact with WBE again.

But there I was, stoned to the gills, texting him.

Kismet.

Here’s the rest of our conversation on Substack, before we get into the meat of it. I do, unfortunately, go full newspeak, imitating what I thought would be the perfect girl for him—

LARP. I had to look that up. I’m thirty-two. Should I know what LARP means?

Anyway…

I was in fact LARPing.

Feeding him exactly what he wanted. Mirroring the women from his stories. I thought it was obvious, but…

Onto the text messages. This is when I committed to the bit. Became Allie.

Excessive, I know. I really thought, “I like cum in my eyes an its good for the skin,” would set off some alarms…

(But I do hear it’s good for your skin.)

Though Allie Sexton is clearly an English or Irish name, he believed that I was in fact Asian.

Baby.

He then sent me a video to prove he was real.

I was fucking astounded. How could this be so easy?

Losing interest, I stopped responding. Around an hour later he hit me with: “did you get scared/ because youre fat?”

No, just tired. Dealing with dread.

Writing the words “foundling subscription” sparked another idea. Rejuvenated me.

(Allie.)

He sent a link to his Substack, insisting I buy a founding subscription to prove I was real. But I just played dumb. Really fucking dumb.

Again with The Hot Dog Thing, which he didn’t mind at all. He just wanted his ego stroked. So Allie stroked.

I thought, “th best piece of writing ive ever read,” would set off some alarms…

He kept nagging me to send the money so he could leave for San Francisco.

Allie couldn’t figure out the subscription page, so he sent his Buy Me A Coffee page instead.

She couldn’t figure that out, either.

I continued playing dumb and nervous, saying “how do i know you’ll come???/wat if u just take my money???”

His response: “if youve read the writing you should know/I always tell the truth now”

At this point he thought I was an older woman. A wombat with a strange hot dog fetish. But Allie Sexton lied.

That bitch!

If I were texting a woman, and she revealed she was a teenager, I’d block her. Report her. Do anything to get as far away from the situation as possible. And that’s what I thought WBE would do. Surely this man doesn’t like teenagers, right?

I’m skipping a lot of texts, because there are just so many. Here’s the meat of it.

“… ur like a god on the page :)))”

C’mon.

Mentioning parents. Another great place to block me. But we continued on, and I grew more and more astounded as the conversation progressed…

I thought this would be the moment he left. Truly. But the further I pushed, the harder his cock got. Oh, WBE, if only you could see the face that had you so engorged, you’d be terrified.

And just like that, he agreed to bang a sixteen-year-old. Allie Sexton.

The Girl Who Doesn’t Exist.

Tuckered out after all the cumshot talk, evading his requests for a picture, I fell asleep.

I woke up to this:

Jesus, now he’s journaling about me!

Allie. T.G.W.D.E.

He resumed hounding me for cash so he could fly over and fuck me.

I was tired of the act. But I wanted to see if I could get him to clearly state that he’d have sex with a supposedly sixteen-year-old girl (again) before I threw in the towel. (I’m a big Chris Hansen fan.)

And he did.

This one made me chuckle.

These didn’t.

He wanted Allie bad.

But Allie doesn’t exist.

Hot dogs do, though.

;)))

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P.S.—After leaking a few pictures on Allie’s account, I received this lovely message:

Thanks, Samuel Liken!

Inspired language from another promising young mind.

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