Los Angeles, 1995.  I’m in a Hancock Park mansion for three marathon days working on a low-budget mafia/vampire/zombie flick starring an ex-Playboy Playmate and an actor who’s been dead for more than a year.  My pay: $75 a day.  My position: props/art department.  The fact I’ve never worked with props or art department is never discussed.

Dear Customer Relations,

I am writing you regarding the frozen H. Habilis I recently purchased from your store. While I admit I would be hard pressed to find a more apt section for such a product than Frozen Novelties, generally one assumes that such items are made from ice-cream or a similar substance. Indeed, this is precisely the assumption I made, and while I wondered what exactly to do with an ice-cream model of H. Habilis, such a large quantity of ice-cream available at only 99.99 was difficult to turn down. Imagine my surprise then, when I went to section my purchase so he might fit in my freezer and discovered that this was a living (or formerly living) creature of flesh and blood.

Hello everyone,

You’ve all voiced concerns about my new girlfriend, Jules. While I appreciate your desire to insinuate yourselves into my personal business, I can assure you that Jules is amazing.

I’ll admit, I didn’t know she was a cannibal at first. She doesn’t like to use that word because of how society has stigmatized it. Her profile said she was an anthropophagist, which I thought meant she was a professor or something. We both had a good laugh about that.

As a certified grocery bagger at the local Freddy’s Foods, it is my Assistant Manager given right to discuss, with each customer, the items that they have purchased as I bag for them. I would also add that I can do so as loudly as needed to ensure that the customer is satisfied. I refuse to remain quiet and let the cashier dominate the conversation, to where I’m only allowed to ask, “Paper or plastic?” 

“I think it goes without saying: that hair is a different color than that hair.”