To be honest with you guys, I’ve already forgotten the safe word. I told you I could handle my Sodium-Amytal, but let’s face it, I was lying. I have taken drugs before, just never the kind smeared on rye crackers.
I’ve been wanting to ask what’s exactly wrong with all of you and I think this is the time, now that the air’s broken.
I’ve never seen noses like yours. Mine is pretty small, yes, but the size of your nostrils is truly jarring. Is that something to do with the rye cracker intake of the drugs? I don’t know. I was guessing that, but maybe you could clear it up. And I like sex and all, but to tell the truth I’m not really attracted to you much anymore. I was, before, but I think the tequila is wearing off and I’m starting to notice the size of your pores, the hair on your moles, the odors coming from the carpet, etc.
I think I only wanted to come to this so I could feel progressive. I’m from a small Midwest town and I just know my parents would disapprove of this kind of thing, and maybe that’s why I agreed to do it in the first place.
And what’s with that pile of rubber masks in the entryway? Is that some sort of ironic thing, or…? Sometimes I don’t know anymore—it seems that every hip party I go to there is some antique mannequin in the hallway dressed up and stained with age. And I think it’s funny, but creepy, and the wigs they put on those things are ratty and make me not want to sleep on the couch— if that makes any sense.
So, what I’m really asking is: can I borrow some cab fare?
Front page image by Frédéric de Villamil