Everyone has enemies. Rivals. A nemesis even. For me, there is no one more suitable to reign supreme in this category than Shirtless Chad.
In order to comprehend the odious enigma that is Shirtless Chad, one must first understand the origins of his name. The “Shirtless” part is derived from the fact that all of his Facebook picture uploads from his Android phone are selfies—Yes, all shirtless. The “Chad” suffix is because his parents are white trash. We’re both from Arkansas after all.
Before the multitudes of Hyper Woke come after me like “You can’t hate someone just for being shirtless,” I can assure you that his Shirtlessness is the mildest of his offenses, just the most transparent.
It all started right after high school. Most people call it “college” but Chad didn’t go. He even got a scholarship and enrolled but he didn’t ever go. I mean, why attend university when you already got your GED, as well as a vocational degree in manual labor? Plus there’s a new batch of freshmen girls at the local high school. Please know that I’m not simply shaming Shirtless Chad for being white trash. I have a personal vendetta.
One night circa 2007 I was smoking weed with a friend from work at his place. Shirtless Chad was not invited. These were the days when vape pens weren’t around yet so getting high was always a whole ordeal. Now I can just stay high at work with relative ease. These were also the days before everyone had texting. I was one of the individuals who did not have the pleasure of using the T9 system yet. Therefore I didn’t receive the texts from Chad, who, unbeknownst to me, had plans with our friend to also smoke.
After the “sesh,” my homie pulls out his cellular phone and sees a text message; “Go look at Everett’s car.” Chad, the scorned would-be stoner, had apparently driven around town and located my vehicle parked outside the mutual friend’s apartment. It was a small town and gas was cheap.
“go look at Everett’s car”
Confused, we immediately went outside to discover that both of the rearview mirrors of my primer black Civic had been ruthlessly and shirtlessly kicked off. I hated Shirtless Chad from that day on, and never looked back. But that was mostly because I no longer had rearview mirrors.
Time went on, I moved away, I grew personally. Nothing, however, could satiate my hatred. Nothing could dissolve the grudge I had harbored deep within myself for Chad. I vowed to avenge my precious 1992 Honda Civic. Revenge is a dish best served shirtless.
The advent of social media brought a glimmer of hope. I could just torment Shirtless Chad by trolling him. With every new shirtless selfie, courtesy of Chad, a new comment by yours truly, stating the obvious with “Shirtless? Priceless,” or I’d hit him with a “No shirt, no shoes, no problem.” This was also the time that “Sharing” became a thing on Facebook. I used the new feature to spread Chad’s Shirtlessness to my own friends. This went on for several months until he got fed up and threatened to drive to the city in which I resided in order to inflict physical damage unto me. This never happened. Chad is a bitch.
Now that I had been found out, I couldn’t very well keep trolling him in the same way. Chad loved the ladies. It was easily inferred by his posts that stated things like “Ladies 😉 hit me up” and listed his phone number on a public post. These horny posts were alternated with ones passionately expressing his love for his babymama, and intermittently those about how she cheated on him with a guy by getting in his truck and blowing him, etc. Basic unaware white trash stuff.
I had a female roommate at the time, and she was super down to mess with him. His telephone number being posted publicly, I employed her to call him. He had just officially divorced his first babymama, and the public hateposts were subsiding. He needed love.
So we called him. Making reference to all his horny posts, we (using her voice, I should add.) talked dirty to him, making him think that he had a remote lover in a nearby town. It was just the opposite, though. It was me; the victim of a senseless crime. Her friends started calling him too. Even my roommate’s best friend, my now fiancee, started calling him, telling him to come to where we all were. He was extremely down for this, it seemed. But in reality, neither his horny levels, nor his desire to kick my ass would make up for the gas prices.
It was around this time that Shirtless Chad started getting his shit together. According to his Facebook profile Chad became CEO at “bein my own boss” and graduated from “The School Of Hard Knocks.” I wished I was around to see it. But, alas, I was then blocked. No doubt I had my spies scoping his profile, but it just wasn’t the same. I wanted to witness firsthand the new blooming relationship between Chad and a teenage girl from the next town over. I had to wait for my chance.
According to my spies, Chad was in a successful relationship with a teenager who shared his love for Nu Metal apparel and memorabilia. This was a good closure from Chad’s woes with his babymama, who was notably no longer a teenager.
It was at this time I was blocked. Although I had my spies, it just wasn’t the same. I needed to feel something deeper. I needed to make him feel something deeper than hate. Love.
Her name was Ginnopher Heiferweight. This name sounds incredibly fake because it is. At first I just wanted a spycam on Chad, just to monitor his actions. Once I had seen what had happened I had to go in.
Relationships must have been dizzying for Chad. Once his babymama got in a truck with another man, Chad was on it. He fell immediately smitten with yet another teenager from another town. I monitored this. I did not comment. Only a few short months into what was allegedly true love, Shirtless Chad was sent to jail for “false imprisonment” and “lacerating a victim.” This means he cut his eighteen year old girlfriend with a knife and wouldn’t let her leave. Pretty bad.
I messaged his cousin, who was extremely shameful for Chad’s actions, and lifestyle. I requested Shirtless Chad’s inmate details regarding his postal address, but it was never confirmed. My plan was to get as many people as possible to print and mail Chad photos of his own shirtless body. It never happened but it probably would have been cool.
It was time that Chad and Ginnopher Heiferweight should meet. Yes I created her. It was “Jennifer” spelled in the most odious way, and Heiferweight–like ok you get it. I thought to myself, “Surely he wouldn’t fall for it.” I was wrong.
Ginnopher. It feels gross even typing it. I found her profile pictures by searching “missing teenage girl.” Yes, I feel bad about it. But this is what Shirtless Chad was into, apparently.
I had noticed Chad had just “designed” his first tattoo. The picture posted depicted the outline of the state of Arkansas with two bisecting diagonal banners displaying his last name. Not terrible in concept, but the state was filled in with red and the banner was a dark blue. The letters of his name were in white and resembled stars. Yes, this conjures the image of a Confederate flag, and for good reason, it was supposed to.
Upon seeing this, I knew Ginnopher needed to give her approval. So I sent him a message telling him how fond I was of the design. I then showed him “my” first tattoo. I Googled “shitty girl tattoo” and sent him the first thing I found. I think it was an abstract heart that turned into an arrow or something equally stupid. Of course he replied with his delight.
Now, Chad was definitely racist. This was all but confirmed with his rebel flag-inspired tattoo, but as I looked deeper within even his own comment sections, I noticed something else; other white supremacists were actually making fun of him. He literally wasn’t even good at being racist. For instance: he would post yet another shirtless selfie with a caption like “1488” or “da south will rise again,” and some other, presumably higher ranking racists would actually clown on him for, what I can only assume is “not being racist very well.”
It was incredible to witness, but as Ginnopher Heiferweight, I couldn’t really “weigh” in, no pun intended, without giving myself up. So I let this pass on as what it was. And what it was, was fucking stupid. That’s when I got super into flirting with Chad, my personal enemy, as a made up teenage girl from an even skankier adjacent town, using the pictures of missing teenage girls. I think I said on her profile that she worked at “McDoneld.”
Unfortunately, I can’t remember any specifics on how I got Chad to go Facebook official with Ginnopher, but it happened. “Chad (redacted) is in an Open Relationship with Ginnopher Heiferweight.”
OK, I got “open relationship,” not full fidelity, but it was more than I had even hoped for.
But, alas, Chad’s horny levels in IRL were too much for Ginnopher’s online love. He soon started dating a much younger girl who had recently graduated from another closeby town’s high school.
She was about eight years younger than Chad, which is technically legal since she was eighteen years of age, just off-putting. I essentially knelt down as Ginnopher and acquiesced to the advent of his new relationship. But I watched. Again, the ups and downs, all clearly documented on Facebook Dot Com. One episode that will always stick in my mind is when she “got in another guy’s truck,” which remains unclear whether this is a euphemism for sex, or simply a vessel to drive there. It is exemplary of what one would expect a white trash man of this caliber to actualize.
Aside from the typical “I love you x Break up now horny” posts which had become canonical to Shirtless Chad, his love life timeline was fairly dark. Until I got news via a screenshot of the newspaper in my hometown was texted to me by an old, mutual spectator.
Chad had gone dark for several days. Now I knew why. Chad was in jail. For the apparent “laceration” and “false imprisonment” which was “of a minor.” I guess his new girlfriend had lied about graduating high school after all, barring her being a genius, which I severely doubt she was.
This was all too good to be true. Chad, the man who had senselessly kicked the mirrors off my precious 1992 Honda Civic, was finally behind bars. Karma had finally worked its way out in my favor.
But I wasn’t done. I had since befriended Shirtless Chad’s cousin, who, embarrassed that Chad had sullied the family name, was happy to do my bidding. I only asked for one thing: his prison mailing address.
I went to FedEx and printed out a shirtless picture of Chad. I wrote down the address to his jail with his mail receival details and I sealed it up in an envelope with these words: No, you go look at your windows, Chad.
written by Everett Byram aka Rad Milk