One of Marko’s friends and a doctor-to-be was at a wedding in Baltimore, Maryland, over the Labor Day weekend, and, although not particularly fond of the girl getting married, he was quite enchanted by the father of the groom, a doctor. I am repeating Marko’s rendering of his friend’s story almost verbatim. This doctor is the head of AIDS research somewhere in the Washington, DC, area and spends half of each year in Ghana, at the very epicenter of the AIDS epidemic. When he travels back to the States, he carries with him over sixty pounds of AIDS-ridden faeces, upon which much important research depends. He regularly encounters two major problems with his shipments. First, as he is merely a doctor and not a government official, his packages travel through regular customs. He is often required to open these packages, which are sealed very carefully, and he does everything in his power to dissuade the customs officials from making this mistake. But to no avail. As AIDS is not an airborne pathogen, he regularly finds himself forced to expose the entire customs area to the most horrendous odor imaginable by unveiling the contents of his shipment. The more unfortunate problem that he encounters is the loss of his packages, and it is for this reason that he brings so much of it with each return journey, in separate containers. Every now and then he receives distressed phone calls from the airport as one of his aberrant pieces of luggage is discovered and opened. As Marko concludes, the sheer tonnage of AIDS-infested shit that the good doctor is doubtless dispersing around the Washington area is simply astounding.