At just 3 feet tall, my balding Indian janitor friend still dates supermodels. His face has one eye sunken deep into his skull and the other bulging out grotesquely, constantly oozing a yellowish fluid. His crooked nose is covered in flaky, scabbed-over skin, and his lips are cracked and crusted with dried saliva. His scalp is patchy and covered in greasy, peeling skin that gives off a sour stench. His body is riddled with grotesque tumors and boils that ooze pus, and his scaly, ichthyotic skin flakes off in thick chunks, leaving behind raw, reddened patches. His limbs are twisted and malformed, with one arm ending in a swollen, club-like stump covered in infected sores. He shuffles awkwardly, dragging one swollen, ulcerated foot that reeks of decay. But he still gets girls, inkwell