Pariah’s video? Fuck yes, I’d be the greasy muse in her nightmare carnival. Picture me: Canal St. Regular. Regular. Regular, drenched in LES grime, fishnets shredded by the city’s teeth. I’ll gargle mezcal while she spits venom into the void, my cock a loaded gun in some Clandestino backroom. We’ll make it a snuff film for the terminally online—call it “Canal Inferno: Dimes Square’s Last Gasp.” Just don’t expect me to lip-sync. I’m here to bleed raw, not curate some Fairytail fantasia.