About 2 am the night after I published my story about breaking up with Facebook, I decided to create a brand new profile. I made 4 friend requests and then fell asleep.
I woke up to over 100 friend requests. New travels face on Facebook! I was added to my old groups and I immediately had forty eleven notifications. I started getting tagged in stuff and I think I peed myself a little.
I had been messaged by Lizzi – and one minute into my first Messenger conversation SOME RANDOM MAN MESSAGED ME.
He didn’t just message me. He CALLED me through Facebook because he and I have so much to talk about, what with us being COMPLETE STRANGERS and me thinking he was MAYBE A TERRORIST (is that racial profiling?)
My Facebook friends were incredible, posting a ton of “welcome backs” on my timeline. Maybe Facebook is only some version of reality, but whatever it is, it felt good.
In several of my groups, women were discussing being propositioned by Brian the Foot Man. That’s actually how he introduces himself. Brian has been skulking around Facebook on and off for years. He messages women and offers to pay them $50 for pictures of their feet.
Mostly everyone is outraged by him. I haven’t been contacted by him yet, and I’m not saying I would do it, but it certainly doesn’t offend me. I’m not sure how he’d feel about my feet. I have really long toes. They’re so long I can curl them around the bars of a jungle gym and hang from them. Not really. But they’re long and can easily be mistake for monkey toes.
At any rate, Brian the Foot Man just doesn’t get my hackles up.
Maybe it’s because I’ve done some really stupid things for money. When I was young I might have taken a questionable job or two. After making ridiculously easy money at a strip club, it’s hard to break out of that life. I had to bust open the sewer pipes at the club and crawl through five hundred yards of shit and raw sewage out into the rain…
Oh wait, that was the Shawshank Redemption.
But there have been some really strange things that people have asked me to do for money.
I absolutely DID blow out the candles on a birthday cake for $100 at Morton’s Steak house in lower Manhattan. I was there with a group of friends after work one night, when a man approached me and asked if I would. Are you kidding? For a hundred bucks
I would blow just about anything I had no problem blowing out those candles. I wish I could earn a living doing that, but currently, things are slow in the birthday cake candle blower-outer business.
Years ago my girlfriend wanted me to go into the dirty panty business with her. Yes. I’m not sure about these days, but soiled panties used to be a booming business! There was an entire section on eBay devoted just to selling crusty used panties. Every woman at some point in her life considers selling her used panties. Um, doesn’t she?
Before you decide to switch professions, think about what this entails. Let’s say you run ads. How many creepy fuckers are you doing to have to talk to before you make a real sale? And you have to buy panties, pay to ship panties, take pictures of you wearing the panties, wear the damn panties – that sounds exhausting to me. I’d rather earn an honest living, selling my plasma.
Not that any of YOU is curious but if you had questions about this tawdry business you can actually go to Reddit’s online University of Panty Selling which so help me God I wish I didn’t know existed.
A really pathetic acquaintance tried to persuade me to have sex with his grandfather for $200 so he could steal the old man’s coin collection. I don’t know which aspect of this story is the most disturbing. The fact that he wanted to steal from his own grandfather, the fact that he was slated to inherit it anyway, his brilliant scheme of having me bump fuzzies with the old man so he could rifle through his belongings, the fact that I actually considered it…
I’m not into the octogenarians. Yet. I said I have Daddy issues, not GRANDDADDY issues. I’m supposed to allow an elderly dude to drive the beef bus to tuna town while his grandson robs him of all his worldly goods? It’s a Viagra commercial gone horribly wrong.
And now, drumroll please, for the Grand Poobah of them all.
A man once offered to pay me thousands of dollars for kicking him in the head until he was unconscious.
And this didn’t even take place at a seedy strip club or escort service. I was at an upscale restaurant-bar with a girlfriend having drinks, and we were approached by a charming, 40-ish man who proceeded to wine and dine (and vagine) us. We ended up going back to his Upper East Side townhouse because that’s a reasonable thing for two young women to do in New York – go back to some rich guy’s house to drink 20-year-old scotch and watch bestiality porn he got special, from the Bronx.
He starts pitching this idea to us, which at first made me laugh until I realized he was serious. I wish I could tell you that we hightailed it out of there completely freaked out but we stayed and tried to accommodate him. We just couldn’t.
Ohh, not because it was debauched and vile. Because I had on the wrong shoes. You need some serious athletic shoes to get the kind of running start required to kick someone unconscious. You can’t mince across a parquet floor in spiked Jimmy Choos and expect to work up enough momentum to knock a motherfucker out.
The deranged thing is that this man wanted a weekly, ongoing arrangement. I can’t even begin to understand it, and all kidding aside, I just didn’t have it in me. YOU try kicking someone square in the face, someone you’re not married to, and see how easy it is. It’s NOT.
So, Brian the Foot Man seems kind of tame to me. Not that I would sell him pictures of my simian feet. I’ve just been asked to do far more bizarre things.
Has Brian the Foot Man contacted you yet? What weird things have you done or been asked to do for money?
Talk to me. I’m listening.