A strange package arrived at Dealer headquarters in OTR last week: a single sheet of paper, folded into a little triangle, known to adolescent boys around the Midwest as a "football."

Despite Ben Quirer's repeated attempts at starting a flick football game, voice-of-reason Jorge Barnes intervened: "Wait a second, in sixth grade, Wanda Plenn, this fat girl who's now a supermodel, sent me one of those. It's a note!"

Indeed, it was a note. It contained a cryptic message that ended in:

"Anyway, Harold, what we're trying to say is: we like you. We mean, like, not just as a friend - we like-like you. Do you like us?"

Below this were checkboxes for "yes" and "no."

"What the fuck is this?" wondered Blaine Chowder. "This is the same shit my last stalker pulled."

After much deliberation, the Dealer staff voted on drawing a third box, checking it, and writing beside it: "Maybe if you put out."

The reply was sent, but the Dealer has received no response as of press time.

"I hope they reply soon," remarked Fred Pastry. "I'm tired of looking at you dudes all day long."