April 20, 2011

You're a Medical Textbook Model!

You wouldn't describe yourself as "handsome". Baristas have called you "pretty good-looking" with a telling emphasis on "pretty" that made you doubt their sincerity. Your ex-girlfriend certainly found you attractive, but you looked almost exactly like her father whom she'd been dating for several years before breaking it off and going out with you. You had always suspected you were the rebound guy.

But you know what adjective people use to describe you most? Undiseased. People constantly comment about how your face was so healthy-looking, so untouched by exotic skin conditions or tropical parasites. Your mother always said the same thing. She would always bring it up when the two of you were dating.

One day you'll be walking out of the pharmacy when a man will stop you.

"You are the most undiseased man I have ever seen. We need to get you into the studio."

You'll reply that you're flattered but not interested.

"I don't think you understand. I represent some of the biggest names in the industry. Jeffrey Hutton, Roxanna Vasquez, Patricia Mason, all the big names in medial textbook modeling."

Those were impressive names, you'll think. Roxanna Vasquez was a legend. Her clear, unscarred armpits redefined medical textbook modeling in the 1980s. And Jeffrey "The Glans" Hutton had been taking up all the male genital work since he broke onto the scene in 2002.

"But compared to you they're lepers," the agent said. "Come with me and you'll be moderately well-paid beyond your wildest dreams."

He wasn't lying. The six months that followed were a whirlwind of photo shoots, industry parties and anonymous sex with medical student groupies. Your parts were all over all the biggest publications. Your clean, inoffensive body stood in stark contrast to those of your blistered, festering counterparts.

But one day everything changed. You were preparing for a diabetic ulcer of the foot shoot when she walked in. She had the face of an angel, body of a goddess and the foot condition of a plague-ridden leper. You were barely listening to the photographer's directions as you watched her limp to the craft table and help herself to some wet melon.

Her name was Fiona and she obviously knew who you were. You told the photographer to give her your address. That night, as you made love on your futon, you couldn't believe how lucky you were. Your agent would go ballistic over this, but you didn't care. You were in love with the most beautiful woman in the world, a woman who was probably going to lose her foot to diabetes.


April 5, 2011

You're a Credit Card Company Assassin!

You can't manage your debt because you have an addiction to buying antique scimitars online. Your apartment is full of them and no one likes going to your place for dinner because it looks like the set of an Arab porno. Plus you always make people watch Arab porno while they eat which no one likes.

But now you're deeply in debt to who knows how many credit card companies with no hope of paying them back. You meet with a debt consolidation service agent who laughs at your file and calls over the other agents to laugh at you. You wish you had a scimitar with you right now, but the local police have made it abudantly clear that this is not okay.

After he's done wiping his giggle tears away, he tells you what you already know.

"You will never be able to pay this off. Not in a hundred years."

"I know," you'll say, "But I need a way out. I'm in love with the barista at the coffee shop on the corner and I know that if I can just get my hands on a few more scimitars I'll be able to ask her to marry me."

"I understand," he says. "I think I have your answer. Come with me."

You follow him into the inner offices and down some stairs. He scans a card and punches in a code on a keypad which opens a heavy metal door. Inside is a training area with lots of yelling and running and flames and people wearing black and shit.

"Wow," you'll say.

"Wow is right," the guy says. You never got his name and it's too late to ask, so he's just "the guy".

"You're going to become a credit card company assassin. You'll pay off your debt with the blood of the wicked until you are free. Then you can marry your precious barista."

You sign some papers and begin your training. Six month later you are in Paraguay, living in a burnt-out factory waiting for orders. You keep yourself sane by writing letters to your beloved. She'll never get them, though, because you'll send them to the coffee shop and she'll have quit two days after you left for training to work at a Hooters by the airport. You'll be killed by your target's bodyguards after getting your scimitar stuck in an air duct. This is really a cautionary tale about online shopping.