UMMMM… (This is going to be awkward)

I wouldn’t have texted you but I’m desperate.

I need you to do me a solid, and help me figure out whether or not I am alive. Because people have been making funny faces at me recently, and it’s not because they think I’m unique or interesting—I’m not.

You need to take a sharp object (a razorblade, a broken beer bottle, a scalpel, switchblade, exacto knife, or samurai sword are some suggestions) and split the skin in the back, front, or whatever. And dig in! Elbow deep!  And start rearranging the furniture, and feeling around. Let your fingertips go WILD!

You got to really get in there because I’m not sure what you’re looking for.

Proof. I guess.

Like a plastic wristwatch. Ordered from a cereal box with 10 UPC codes. That’s still ticking.

Or a hotplate glowing red and orange.

Or a limited edition, first generation, copy of a self-help book written by grocery store romance novel writers, printed in 1979, still in mint condition.

Or a used silicone implant of a famous celebrity, still covered in dried out bits of coveted DNA.

Or a pod of unhatched spider eggs.

I don’t really know, but you’ll have to be thorough and have a steel stomach, because it’s going to be messy, and heartbreaking. And I don’t want you puking your guts into me—there’s already enough shit inside of me + the smell of puke makes me nauseous.

You’ll need a sandwich bag to catch my ghost because it will want to move out after you’re done remodeling my insides. 

(I started believing in that paranormal shit after watching a show about it on tv where three dudes go to abandoned buildings and detect ghosts with their arm hair.)

You can do whatever you want with it after you’re done.

Put it between two pieces of bread, make a sandwich, and take it to work for lunch—it’s already in the proper bag, and I’m sure it will taste good.

Perserve it in formaldehyde.

Or just throw it out.

Either way, you’ll be compensated with vicodin and a gram of weed.

And don’t worry about the body; it’s being shipped to Nepal for a sky burial.

Please get back to me.

 And thanks.

 Thanks again.

(Even though you haven’t helped or done anything yet.)