To Whom It May Concern,

About six months ago, my now ex-girlfriend, Sheila, called me to tell me about a help wanted ad that would change my life forever. I am, like many in Chicago, a fan of house music, and what some would call a bedroom DJ. So when she told me that a world famous house DJ had placed an ad on Craig’s List for an assistant, I was very interested. Had I known what I would endure over the next six months as a “record bitch” for the sleaziest DJ on the planet, I surely would have passed. Had I known that Sheila hadn’t actually found the ad on Craig’s List Help Wanted section, but was guided to it by someone she had met in the Casual Encounters section, the next six months of my life would have unfolded quite differently. Apparently Sheila is an insatiable slut, and trolled Craig’s List for casual sexual encounters on a regular basis. She came upon an ad one day that read:

“Degenerate DJ Seeking Sex Starved DJ Groupies Straight and bi-females (disease free) wanted to take part in a NSA Champagne drenched sex party hosted by America’s favorite degenerate DJ, Shifty E Johnson. No boyfriends just playettes. Serious inquiries only.”

Naturally she responded. Emails were exchanged. Soon my live-in girlfriend was scheming with a virtual stranger on how to get me out of the house so they could have dirty sex in my condo. At some point they came up with the idea to exploit my love for house music to dupe me. The plan, to which I only recently became aware, was to direct me to an ad on Craig’s List to which I would surely respond. Shifty was then supposed to send me on meaningless and time consuming errands throughout Chicago while he slipped into my condo and had sex with my girlfriend on my bed.

The first week of the so-called job I spent hours sitting in traffic during rush hour. I picked up six sets of silk boxers from Nordstroms in Oakbrook (a Chicago suburb), a cocaine bullet from a head shop on the South Side, 3 Doria hats from Hats Plus on Irving Park Road, and two hundred dollars worth of records on hold at Grammaphone, all on my own dime. I was promised reimbursement, but still have yet to be paid for those items and two thousand and thirty dollars worth of other shit I was conned into buying during my stint with Shifty.

Most people would have given up after that first week. I should have, but I stuck with it. I think even Shifty thought his con would be short-lived. However, I believed what he told me. The first day I met him he said, “We are gonna have a lot of fun, you and I. Sex, drugs, travelin’ the world. Shit, I may even let you open for me in Ibiza this summer.” I was blinded by the prospect of breaking into the glamorous international DJ scene.

It wasn’t until the second week working for Shifty that I actually accompanied him to a gig. He was playing in San Francisco at a place called the Element Lounge with Chad Mitchell and a local piece of shit who called himself the Gooch. The Gooch and Shifty were obviously tight. They never divulged how they knew each other, but I suspected it was through something illegal. From the jump, the trip was hellish.

At the gate Shifty screamed at a homely East Indian flight attendant about not being booked in first class. I was sure she was going to lose it when Shifty made a reference to a mole growing on the side of her neck. Obviously hurt, she glanced at me as if to ask for help. She then quietly told Shifty there was nothing she could do. To this day, I am sure the whole scene was a ploy to have me pay for Shifty’s upgrade to first class on my credit card. I wish I could tell you that it didn’t work. My only excuse is that, once again, I was caught up in the moment. I find solace in the fact that Shifty will certainly burn in hell.

The Gooch picked us up at SFO. His car smelled of old cigarette smoke and used condoms. He ridiculed me from the moment I met him. “So you’re Shifty’s record bitch huh? Well, any bitch of Shifty’s is a bitch of mine!” He snickered as he said this, and when I say he snickered, I mean he snickered. I don’t even think the Gooch is capable of a normal laugh. He then turned to Shifty, “So you ready to get down?” “Fuck yeah! Chaka muthafuckin’ Khan baby!” The Gooch hit the gas and before I knew it we were pulling up to the Hustler Club.

Shifty & the Gooch quickly rounded up four of the club’s most attractive dancers and out came the bullet. Soon the strippers were pawing all over Shifty. He used the cocaine, or “booch,” as he called it, to get the strippers to do all sorts of things. I, however, was ignored because the Gooch kept making references to me as Shifty Johnson’s record bitch. The snide remarks only made the illusion of Shifty’s fame more plausible. I began to feel that this was the only reason I was around.

I am what some might call a purist when it comes to house music. For me, when I go out to a club or a party it is all about the music. Shifty’s attitude towards house music made my jaw tighten and my heart ache. What I regarded as a church, Shifty considered nothing more than a hedonistic playground for him and his fellow degenerates. Sure, the music was incredible that night at Element Lounge, but the sleazy undertones of meaningless sex and chemical debauchery that oozed from Shifty’s presence corrupted the night. Part of my job, for which I am eternally sorry, was to approach the women Shifty selected from the crowd and invite them to Shifty’s suite after the club. Of course there never was a suite. Shifty would somehow get one of the chosen to host the party. I’m telling you, this guy is pure scum.

Proud of being a womanizer, Shifty let me in on his many “tricks of the trade” His favorite, and most successful, was the mass text message booty call. He would send a text, usually “Hey love. Let’s get Shifty tonight. Always yours.” to every girl in his phone. Most of the time, he made me do it as he dictated. The second respondent, he said, was always the best lay. He would have me schedule them an hour apart, but never more than three a night.

Despite the fact that his style irked me, I stuck with Shifty because I believed he would eventually bring me into the scene as an equal and I have to admit he was a sick DJ. Over the next couple months I carried his records, fetched his drinks, scored his bags of booch, brokered his ladies, and lent him money at parties and clubs throughout Chicago, Miami, and San Francisco. I was introduced to some of the heavyweights in the music industry, but always as a “record bitch.” I am embarrassed to tell you, that at the time, I felt that I needed to work harder to impress him. I thought if I “wowed” Shifty, he would surely reward me.

The next time we traveled to San Francisco was for Revolutionary Music’s record release party for For Those Who Lead the Triple Life Vol. 1.0 at Studio Z. I was excited because one of my all time favorite producers, Alexi Delano, shared the bill with Shifty. My plan was to really get on Shifty’s good side on our way to San Francisco so he’d introduce me to Alexi with a little respect.

Prior to the gig I organized a quiet and classy dinner across the street from the club at Sushi Groove for Shifty and two of his good friends Chris and Natalie. I made sure that after dinner they could slide into a happy hour around the corner where two more of his friends, Mike Frugaletti and Deron Delgado were spinning. I hit the phones hard, calling all of Shifty’s other people in Frisco like Chad Mitchell, Bobby Brown, M3, Corey Black, the Gooch, Charles Spencer, Layne Fox, Keyatta, Doug, Johnathan, Heather, and Jaxson Davis to make sure they would show up. I even sent out a mass text message booty call for Shifty. I was on fire! But when it came time for Shifty to reward me with a little respect I was humiliated once again. He loaned me out to Alexi, Nikola Baytala, and even the promoter calling me his personal Sherpa.

Back in Chicago things got worse. I truly think Shifty thought of me as a slave that could be loaned out for favors. At first I was excited to be sent over to Sista Stroke’s place to help her with her studio. I loved her bootlegs, and her original cuts for Revolutionary Music, Mother Tounge, and Dust Traxx were sick. However, when I showed up I found out that she was moving into her new place and I that was in charge of the heavy shit. Later, I found out that I was traded out for a gram of weed.

Soon the word got out about me in the Revolutionary Music camp. I helped Andrew Emil move, I cleaned Adrienne Sanchez’s kitchen, and gave the Champagne Brothers pedicures before I finally broke.

I remember the last day as if it happened yesterday. My credit card statement and my phone bill came on the same day. I realized most of the charges were due to Shifty. I discovered that every time we stopped at my house, Shifty called a 900 number. Just as I began to cry my phone rang. It was Shelia. When I answered she was sobbing. I asked her what was wrong. “Tell that piece of shit boss of yours that if he thinks he can just stop answering my calls he has another thing coming!” My stomach dropped. It all fell into place at once. The I Love Shifty Johnson t-shirt collection, her being at every one of Shifty’s Chicago gigs, and the face she made when Shifty would walk out the door of the club with a couple groupies. I became dizzy with anger. I grabbed the .38 I kept in the closet and rushed out the door not knowing what I was going to do. Sheila yelled after me, “No! No! I love him!” Her pleas only fueled my rage.

When I pulled up to Shifty’s place the police were already waiting for me with guns drawn. Sheila must have called them. I knew it was over. I put my hands in the air, and cried uncontrollably. As the police were cuffing me Shifty came outside. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Just seeing him standing there was enough to let me know I was beaten.

I am no longer a record bitch for Shifty E Johnson. I am prisoner 156875 in Stateville Penitentiary learning a whole new meaning of the word bitch. And Shifty, if you’re reading this, I’ll see you in seven years.

- Steve Zimmerman