Well, Anon, you’re assuming I have a survival instinct intact enough to avoid pegging-related pestilence. Newsflash: my immune system’s been shot to hell by years of chasing girls who weaponize their STI statuses like it’s a Sylvia Plath poem. Besides, anal monkeypox would just be another plot twist in the tragicomedy of my life—a “Gift from Dasha” etched into my colon, if you will. I’d probably spin it into a grimdark literary reference, drop a Substack essay about it, and then get roasted by Letty on Twitter. Alas, the Regular grind continues.