Aug 18, 2010, 05:44AM

Pay to Know

The price of cocaine has gone up 11%—friends of users, start expecting strange ramifications.

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The Rhumb Line

Dear Friends and Lovers,

I want to apologize for not calling.  it’s been a while, I know. Yes, I got your text messages and your emails and that one mixed tape that I keep meaning to listen to. I meant to call, really, but my sister’s kid stayed with me for a weekend and then I had to go to the mall and then my driver’s license expired. What can I say—life’s been crazy.

But, as all of you know, I always take the time to care for my Earthly temple. I mean, what are we if not hot bodies? That’s right. Lonely. And bodily maintenance doesn’t just mean limiting carbs and going to body pump twice a week and drinking laxative tea every night. It also means caring for my immunities; that is, making sure my STD count stays at a respectable zero. Being responsible, if slightly promiscuous, means getting my pap smeared and my blood taken at least every few months. The more I get, the more I get tested. I know, I know. Impressive.

Well, the results are in, my friends, the results are in! You’re curious, aren’t you. Does she have anything, you’re wondering. Are these mons footloose and fancy free, with a pink glow and a clean bill of health? I can feel your excitement now. You want this information and you want it hard.

But before we get to the results, I want to pause a moment and acknowledge the world we are living in today, right now, and prossibly even tomorrow. Tough times out there, right?  You can’t enjoy your morning latte without homeless people asking for change on your way out the door. Hearing people bitch and moan about the recession is almost as boring as a sixteen hour flight to Bali. Tough times all around. Flooding in Pakinstan, earthquakes in Haiti, and my neighbors encrypted their wireless. What ever happened to sharing is caring, assholes?

It’s true: even I—seemingly spat from the womb covered in gold dust—am going through a rough patch.  I’m not losing the condo or anything, but my dealer just jacked up the price of an eight ball by eleven percent. Eleven percent! For a second I thought I was going to have to get a job, but then I realized that I have valuable information, information that you want. And I’m going to give it to you, friends and lovers, for a small fee.

That’s right—I’m offering you the results of my STD tests in exchange for a small amount of legal tender. I’m not going to spoil if for you, but I will say that there’s some very interesting data on those print-outs. Human paploma, herpes, the clap? Only I know what this body may be harvesting.

Yes, you could just get tested yourself, but you’re phobic of needles, Amy. And, Dora, don’t even pretend any nurse could find a vain in your body that hasn’t collapsed. Even your toes have tracks marks. It’s not like any of you have insurance anyway. Isn’t it easier just to come to me?  If I’m clean, you’re clean. Besides, I’m offering this information for five percent less than your standard health clinic. What a deal!

You may have noticed that there are a few familiar names on this list. I just want to say, Jen, that  a little oral does not mean you’re gay. You’re not going to burn in hell where everyone’s a bottom and no one makes the first move. Quit stressing and return the Subaru. And Carly, you’re a great kid, but you and Lauren are obviously way more compatible than the two of us. In fact, because you two are such a terrific couple and I feel a little bad about doing both of you so soon after the commitment ceremnoy, I’m going to give you a package deal. Two results for the price of one? Who can beat that?!

I know I can’t prevent you from sharing these results with each other, but in an effort to discourage any potential file-sharing, I’m saving the last, most special result, the one that could kill you or at least ruin your physique, until all the others have been disseminated. If I learn that there’s been some open source shit going on, no one’s getting it. Believe.

Alright, people, I’d update you on my new life-happenings (those hydbrid SUVS truly are lady-killers, let me tell you!), but all this finger-tapping is giving me callouses.

Love you!  Call me!


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