Hey guys, EpiPen here. Bottom line, I’m still the same auto-injector you came to love back in ’87. Got that same dynamic color scheme, same epinephrine loaded up, same iced-out Jesus piece hanging from my plunger. Not going anywhere, and certainly not letting this newfound torrent of $100 bills change me.

Alright, full disclosure, yes, the added attention feels good. Considering I have a lifespan of 365 days, which I typically spend buried in the cold recesses of your purse (praying for shellfish to get mixed up in your fricassee), it does feel nice to be noticed. But like I said, at my core I’m still the same old emergency anti-allergen I’ve always been.

And yes, I can see the young child going into anaphylactic shock across the room, thanks for pointing him out. I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment, defending myself mid-monologue. You’re more than welcome to assist if you’re so bothered — just let the panic-stricken mother know it’s $600 a hit if she wants me to make an appearance. Seven if the kid wants a signed 8 1/2 × 11.

Yeah I leapt in price, It’s called inflation. The general public can only skate by on $100 EpiPens for so many years before I abruptly sextuple in value. Honestly, I’m practically giving myself away at $600.

What was I talking about again? Goddamn peanut allergy kids sucking down legumes, messing up my train of thought.

That’s right, same old EpiPen. Saving lives, basking in the limelight, and not getting out of bed for less than half a G. Don’t like it? You’ll get no apologies from me. I’m literally pure adrenaline. Severe as severe allergy treatment gets. And right now I’m fighting off paparazzi and flighting my G6 to the tropics.

Hang on, I’m getting a call… Insulin! You coked-out overpriced son of a bitch! We still on for the Bahamas this weekend?

Yeah, I take vacations, I friggin’ deserve it. You see the state of these thighs I get injected into? Listen, you want a more down-to-earth, affordable emergency pharmaceutical, pack up your sickly family and move overseas. Good luck with your gluten allergy in Siberia.

But despite it all, I’m still the same EpiPen: Opening up passages, raising blood pressures and about to drop the hottest mix tape of the year.

Oh I’m getting another call… Martin Shkreli! You rat-faced sociopath! Put Heather on the phone. Bresch! How’s my favorite nationally despised executive? Hang on guys…

Sorry — I have to take this. Can you go convulse elsewhere?