The Latte Manifesto

A devastating new aliment is plaguing the dance community. Perineum particulitis, more commonly known as PP or “dandruff ass”, is the result of deeply embedded microflakes of thong underwear. The primary symptom is the shedding of thousands of infinitesimal pieces of panty material over the course of 24-72 hours. Researchers believe that these tiny bits of thong fabric are created by extended periods of intense friction, most likely due to vigorous booty shaking. PP is often found in people who also suffer from pneumosparklyosis, aka glitterlung. It is suspected that high-glitter environments are especially conducive to prolonged thong-wearing and hip-popping. To raise funds in support of those who have been stricken with PP, the newly formed Foundation for Abrasive Taints is selling red, lace-patterned THONGSTRONG rubber bracelets. All proceeds will fund research into the causes and prevention of PP, as well as the manufacture of high-durability thong panties and other PP-related products. You can help FAT’s research efforts by taking a few moments to complete the following survey: 1. Have you ever experienced PP? 2. How many times? (For each incident, list brand, style, material and color.) 3. Would you consider wearing a custom-fitted device to prevent PP? 4. Would you prefer that the device be made of metal, plastic, or a biodegradable substance? 5. How much would you pay for this device? ($10 or less, $10-$25, $25-$50, over $50) 6. This device comes with a set of microwavable, freezer-safe storage containers with matching EZ-snap-tite lids. NOW how much would you pay? Submit your survey answers along with your name, age, race, annual income, home, business and e-mail addresses, all phone numbers, top five hopes and dreams, high school yearbook photo, social security number, mother’s maiden name, town in which you were born, first pet’s name, favorite color, length of longest relationship, and who you’re voting for, to: thongstrong@pacbell.net Thank you for your support! THONGSTRONG!

This morning I went to the lab to have blood drawn for a series of tests that check for coagulation problems. It was 10 in the morning, and as required, I hadn’t eaten since about 7pm the night before. Mike, an obese man with a habit of laughing raucously at his own bad jokes, spent nearly 45 minutes on my paperwork, during which time I developed a migraine and an acute feeling of persecution. The lab tech was a friendly, notably homely Indian woman named Lucky. Her accent was almost impenetrable. As she assembled the 12 or so vials that she was about to fill with my blood, she said, “I like your face.” I panicked and could not manage to return the compliment, instead stammering out a weak thank you and then something idiotic about how I try to smile as much as possible, which is not at all true. I like to think that if I had been in my right mind, I would have replied graciously, perhaps appreciating her name, or her lab coat. “I like your face.” What an odd thing to say.