I'm Not A Foodie, I'm Just Fat A.K.A Roasted Chicken With A Side Of Broken Heart

It was a chilly April day, and I stood in front of what used to be Virgin Records. Now a casualty of the shitty economy, it had been converted to a Citibank. Yet another reminder of how NYC was slowly transforming into a banal wasteland. I was nervous, yet excited; a woman had sought me out online! This was a rarity in that women do not normally seek us penis wearers. Rather, we are the ones on the other end of the keyboard hoping they haven't closed their Okcupid account. Filled with disgust, after a barrage of losers before us had sent them one sentenced e-mails with horrible grammar proposing sex or pictures of their member in its photoshopped glory.