I’ve grown to realize that just about every experience in this world is subject to interpretation — there is no good, there is no bad.

There is only one’s perception of the experience. Okay, I haven’t really learned that… and there’s no way a statement that sweeping can hold true across every possible circumstance.

One thing I have come to understand, however, is that I can make just about any experience swing positive or negative simply by the spin I put on it… or the headspace I happen to occupy at the moment I’m thinking about it.

Editor of a major skin mag? Well, the grueling hours, gnawing deadlines, and never-ending loop of pitching, developing, and printing are downright exhausting. Day after day, week after week, issue after issue, the grind is relentless. Sure, reading erotic fan mail, getting unsolicited tit pics (keep ’em coming), and perving out on set are great, but firing off a few knuckle children is still frowned upon — even in this very liberal work environment — so I leave the office more frustrated than most.

The reality, however, is that I love my job… and probably for all the same reasons I just mentioned (aside from not being able to abuse the wicked stick at the office — that one’s a real challenge). I work with so many brilliant minds (except Phil), so many inspiring creatives (except Mike), and, you guessed it, more flappy sweater yams than I can shake a stick at. But there’s one perk in particular that keeps me smiling all day long: mailbox booty.

Publicists and product managers, marketing execs and manufacturers all send me packages almost every day. Things they want me to try, things they want me to use, things they think I’ll enjoy, but more specifically, things they want me to write about and promote through Shameless Plug. And it’s awesome. Sure, I get stuck with a lot of weirdness — like the time I went blind for 43 minutes while testing out a handful of experimental boner pills, or when I accidentally poisoned half the office with homemade sludge from that janky bathtub-moonshine kit — but I also get some really great shit. Plus, I feel like a giddy little kid every time a package arrives, harkening back to the days when care packages at sleepaway camp, birthday presents from distant relatives, and airmailed panties from that super-hot Russian tourist-chick I met one summer at El Matador State Beach were the marrow of my very existence.

Almost all of us like surprises — especially if they don’t have anything to do with a pregnancy test or that time your uncle accidentally sent you a video of him getting brain from some shemule in Thailand.

Apparently I’m not alone, because the armchair psychotherapists at Loot Crate are building a small empire by tapping into those same dopamine receptors that get me happier than a Jew on Free Bagel Day (am I allowed to say that?). And it’s annoying, because their model is really simple and so fucking smart.

We guys tend to geek out on collectibles and rare finds. We also like a solid deal, but we’re inherently lazy when it comes to shopping. And almost all of us like surprises — especially if they don’t have anything to do with a pregnancy test or that time your uncle accidentally sent you a video of him getting brain from some shemule in Thailand. So, for a fart shy of $16, Loot Crate will amass, pack, and ship a big box of goodies to you every month.

I signed up for Loot Crate a while back, thinking that I was going to end up with a bunch of bullshit I would need to get rid of, but boy was I wrong. From a rare Rocket and Groot figurine, to a limited-edition Star Wars activity book, to The Walking Dead boxers (hehe… zomballs), I kept just about everything they sent me. And call it economy of scale or falling off the back of a truck, but the packages are pretty dense, loaded with all kinds of loochie valued well beyond the price I paid. Don’t know how they do it, and don’t care.

Yes, the selfish bastard in me wants to keep Loot Crate a secret, because if everyone found a way to experience the joys of mailbox booty, one of the greatest perks of my job wouldn’t feel as special. The rest of me, however, appreciates that we all deserve to experience the thrill of a surprise every month.

Plus, it’s really great to get something in the mail that isn’t a bill, a repo warning, or a reminder that my power is still shut off.

Loot Crate — $15.99

Photo: Gerald De Behr