Valerie Fu / Daily Nexus

Come and get me while I’m hot! For a limited time span of three days to two weeks, you may feel giddy, warm or fuzzy inside as a result of speaking to me or hearing me talk while I strain my vocal chords using my sensual, sultry, flu-stricken voice. 

Now, I really have something to offer the people. Call me Narcissus, but I think this Narcissus is rightfully deserving of some kisses-us. With my ravishing good looks, enticing personality and incredibly hot bod, my voice was the perfect missing piece to the puzzle of Why Men Don’t Seem To Like Me (Or Women For That Matter).

It was difficult work to keep up with the demands of my newfound powers of seduction. You could imagine my lack of surprise when the man who had the fortune of conversing with me decided to get down on his hands and knees and kiss the tops of my conveniently open-toed shoes while saying he wasted 12 years of their life pledging allegiance to the flag of the United States of America instead of to me. “United they stand,” they told us. To that I say, “united they fall.” 

I was also unfazed when a squidly ex-drag queen came out of the ocean and offered me the trade of my alluring voice for the opportunity to spend unexplained, extended periods of time with an average rich white man named Eric. I said no because I already do that every day when I leave my apartment to face this godforsaken town and the unrelenting void of strong wind conditions and people that actually wear hats. Also when I see my buddy Eric.

However, I am deeply saddened to know that out of all the new people that I met in the past week, drawn to me by the invisible leash that was the sound of my voice being carried to them on a provocative winter wind, none of them know that it was actually all a facade. 

While I will always be grateful that I simply did not drink enough tea with honey during my ill and sickly era, there is no hiding the fact that nature is healing and my tantalizing voice’s death-grip on the sex scene of Isla Vista will inevitably falter. Gone will be the times my courtiers enjoyed my tantalizing presence, blissfully ignorant and disastrously attracted to someone that sounded like they smoked 125,687 packs a day for the past 3,000,000 years.

Instead, they will receive bitter sorrow upon realizing I’m just an average gal with an average voice, an average life and an average pair of bazongas.

Meel F. Lover will be there to whisper sweet nothings to you as she tucks you in tonight.