As a renter, you can either surrender to the vermin that eat all your Chips Ahoy but don’t pay their fair share of rent or you can blow them off the face of the fucking earth. When the sticky traps suck ass and the snap traps don’t clap, I opt for the war criminal’s favorite initialism: ICBM.

I once had a friend who didn’t believe in pirates.

She said, “They’re a conspiracy.”

I said, “why?”

“I’ve never seen one.”

I nodded. I had no idea what she was talking about.

River Hickey was my first bite. That was his name—River Farslayer Hickey. In the app he told me interesting names make for interesting people and I asked if I could be the judge of that. Later that same evening, he pulled up to the old lady’s house whose attic I sleep in with his cherry-red pickup. When I sat in the passenger seat, he stared at me like I polished off a meals-worth of mayonnaise packets.

Henry Cooper never learned how to walk forward, so backward was out of the question. He could only walk sideways.

Eventually, as Henry reached puberty, he started to think about girls and became extremely self-conscious about walking sideways. So he took action.

You’re a masochist. Orchestrating the universe’s workings for your own pleasure, transforming everyone into a whip-wielding master.

Pervert.

Not satisfied with mundane dungeons and pro-dommes, you’re into the lifestyle, baby. 24/7.