You know what’s kind of (okay, really) fucked up? The fact that I was ready to say yes to this one (I’ve had a super shitty work week. That money would be my ticket out). Because after a lot of self-reflection and careful, thoughtful, labored consideration of the potential human cost of this dare, the conclusion I came to was “fuck all y’all” (I’m paraphrasing, but you get the gist). And then just literally seconds before I was about to start typing, to put a magical spin on the fact that clearly, I’m a totally selfish, moneygrubbing asshole, it hit me: damaged condoms don’t just mean possible babies, they also mean disease. Which kind of rains all over my parade. I’m no moralist (she said, as she accepted the award for Understatement of the Year), but come on! I don’t want to take a job as Travel Agent to the stars genital herpes, warts, chlamydia, gonorrhea, syphilis and, most of all — because you can treat that other shit (although herpes does fight kinda dirty) — The Mother of all STDs, HIV. Those guys all get around just fine as it is without my help. Especially HIV, unfortunately. I just get squeamish about the idea of, you know, passing along AIDS to unsuspecting people (who made the effort to protect themselves, to boot) for money. I’m kooky like that. I pass.
