Gagged, Grinded, & Legally Screwed

They say bad things come in threes.

The cease-and-desist letter arrived in threes.

First by certified mail.

Then by Email.

And last by Grinded app notification from user SuitedDaddy4Justice.

Their bio? Here 4 legal penetration. 😈⚖️

They gave it to him straight.

Well.

As straight as anything involving Grinded could be.

"Cease immediately or prepare to be legally raw-dogged harder than a twink at his first Pride."

Austin Coyle, 32, part-time barista and full-time mistake, read it while shoveling cold leftovers into his mouth, surrounded by empty soda cans and a cat named Peanut Bottom, whose judgmental glare screamed Fox News and Fancy Feast.

“We are prepared to pursue aggressive legal action regarding the malicious and defamatory portrayal of our client’s revolutionary social platform within your literary hate crime.”

It was signed by The Law Offices of Grinded LLC, whose company motto was, “Slide into Our DMs... in Court.”

Austin blinked at the letter like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming midlife crisis.

His questionable fame began with Grinded & Bound: The Paranormal Hookup Files, a novella best described as if Stephen King ghostwrote an episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race while drunk on Fireball.

The plot? A cursed dating app that makes hookups go supernaturally sideways.

It quickly became a cult hit online. Comments included:

“This healed me in ways therapy couldn’t.”

“Is the ghost real or just a metaphor for my last situationship? Either way, hot.”

“This is what happens when gay men aren’t supervised by publishing houses.”

"This awakened something in me that probably should have stayed asleep."

“I screamed. I cried. I got turned on.”

But apparently, not everyone was thrilled with Austin's literary masterpiece.

Some people, namely, a corporate team with unlimited legal ammo and possibly a ritual blood oath with Verizon, were Big Mad.

So Austin, of course, did what any desperate millennial does when faced with legal annihilation and $8.73 in his checking account.

He went to Reddit.

Specifically, r/legaladvice.

Even more specifically, he hired a guy from there named Brad.

Yes, Brad.

They arranged to meet at a Starbucks.

Brad arrived ten minutes late, wearing cargo shorts and carrying a binder labeled LAW STUFF.

“So like,” Brad began, “fair use is when something’s fair. Like, if it’s funny, it’s chill. That's literally the law.”

Austin stared at him like he’d just offered legal advice via Ouija board and crystal ball consultation.

“Did you actually go to law school?”

"I mean... I went to Abraham Lincoln University Online, yeah. It's totally accredited. I think.”

Brad then claimed to have once "helped a YouTuber not get sued by Chuck E. Cheese for making a horror movie in the ball pit."

"Plus," he added, "I once sued myself for character defamation. I lost. But I learned a lot."

Austin's soul left his body, took a walk around the block while smoking a cigarette, and reluctantly returned.

---

Court was held in a stuffy downtown building that smelled like old coffee, crushed dreams, and the faint aroma of judicial disappointment.

The courtroom was packed. Half with legal observers who clearly had nothing better to do, half with fans in cosplay holding signs that read:

“I BELIEVE IN GHOST DICK JUSTICE”

“HAUNT ME, DADDY”

“LEAVE AUSTIN ALONE!”

The prosecution was led by a man so devoid of joy he looked like he strangled puppies for cardio. His tie was covered in tiny gavels, his suit was the color of despair, and his facial expression suggested he'd never experienced physical affection, basic human kindness, or a single gram of serotonin.

His soul had clearly been repossessed by Sallie Mae, resold to corporate overlords, and was now being rented back to him at a premium rate.

The judge, a 60-something woman with cat-eye eyeglasses and deep “I don’t have time for this shit” energy, eyed the crowd, sighed, and motioned for opening statements.

Prosecutor Gavel Tie came in hard, loud, and painfully dry.

“Your Honor,” he bellowed, “the defendant has maliciously portrayed my client’s innovative dating platform as, and I quote, ‘a cursed hellscape where horny meets haunted and daddy issues go to reincarnate.’”

“Furthermore,” Gavel Tie barked, “his book suggests users are engaging in necro-communication via unsolicited ectoplasmic sexts.”

Austin whispered to Brad, “To be fair, that’s still more reliable than their app’s message function.”

Brad nodded and scribbled, “Ghosts not likely to ghost?”

“And let’s not forget,” Gavel Tie thundered, “his depiction of our app’s users as, again, quoting directly, ‘men who list masc4masc but still haunt their ex’s Netflix login.’”

Austin shrugged. “Some subscriptions never end.”

“Mr. Coyle,” the prosecutor asked, pacing like an angry Karen demanding to speak to the manager, “are you aware that parody requires actual comedic intent?”

“I was until I read this lawsuit. Now I’m not sure anyone here knows what comedy is.”

“Did you describe Grinded as ‘Tinder’s gay, gothic twin with less functionality and a Beetlejuice addiction’?”

“Yes. I’ve seen ant farms with fewer bugs than their app.”

“Why write something so indecent?”

"Because healing’s expensive, shame is free, and my mental breakdowns have surprisingly good pacing."

Finally, with his shirt freshly ironed and soul slightly wrinkled, Austin stood and addressed the court, channeling every courtroom drama he'd ever binge-watched on Netflix.

“Your Honor, I didn’t write this story to defame anyone. I wrote it because I was sad, horny, and accidentally downloaded a haunted dating app while drunk.”

He continued. “It’s not about Grinded, really. It’s about healing. About wanting to haunt your ex but not being able to afford a medium.”

Austin looked around the courtroom.

“I never set out to hurt their brand. Honestly, I improved it. Before my story, they were just another bug-ridden, soul-sucking hookup app. Now? They’ve got lore. They’ve got plot. They’ve got ghost-flavored dick.”

He paused for dramatic effect.

“And let the record show: I did not invent the haunted app rumors. I just wrote what their users were already screaming in one-star reviews.”

He handed a printed review to the judge that read, “Matched with my ex. He’s dead. App crashed. Ghosted... again.”

Austin nodded triumphantly. "Your Honor, that's not libel. That's customer dissatisfaction. And customers don't lie. They're just dead inside. Sometimes literally."

The jury deliberated for exactly eight minutes. Just enough time to order a round of lattes, start a group chat called "Grinded Truthers," and collectively decide that this was the most entertainment they'd had since Tiger King.

They returned with the verdict.

“Not guilty on all counts. Also, when’s the movie adaptation?”

The judge banged her gavel. “Case dismissed. Mr. Coyle, you’re free to go. Try not to piss off Apple next time.”

Austin turned to Brad. They fist bumped like two dudes who had just successfully won against Satan using nothing but vibes and a free trial of Grammarly Premium.

The real victory though?

Austin's book sales skyrocketed in the following weeks.

Turns out, being legally screwed doesn’t always leave you on your knees.

Sometimes, you finish with a happy ending instead.