Brad Einstein

Lake Michigan is the crown jewel of this fair city. Unfortunately, as swim advisories occasionally remind beachgoers, it's also full of shit. A whole lot of shit. It's my shit. It's your shit. It's shit that floats up from Gary, Indiana, and it's shit that floats down from Gary, a dude from Milwaukee who had a very large breakfast. And yes—Callooh! Callay!—in 1900 engineers made the river flush backward so now all our turds float to Saint Louis—unless there's heavy rain.

Late last month, a number of headlines carried news of Adolf Hitler’s genitalia: "Medical Records Reveal Nazi Leader Adolf Hitler Had Deformed Micropenis." Hitler's schvantz, as stunted as his art career—it made perfect sense. What else could've created such an evil monster besides a disfigured groin nubbin? But then I read more.

"I found a new job," I told my boyfriend at the beginning of last summer. "As an online girlfriend. Part cam-girl, part therapist." "So guys would pay to see you naked?" he asked, clearly not thrilled by the idea. "Well, yes. But they mostly want to pretend to have a relationship," I explained. "They want someone to listen to them." I was 26, well past my crazy college years, but hadn't lost the urge to seek out new and strange opportunities.