Okay. I have a vestigial tail. It's more of a nub, really.
The spine just goes on a little longer than it should. Also, I've dabbled.
I mean, perform fellatio once and you're a poet, twice and you're a homosexual.
I remember once I was being fisted by Sebastian Cabot- but here's where the
story gets interesting. He was lactose-intolerant. He could eat red meat all
night long, but one sip of milk and it was gastric hell. And I remember we
were caught in flagrante delicto by Henry Kissinger, and you can imagine my
humiliation at having Hank hear me say, "Mr. French, no teeth." One of my
greatest disappointments is that I never became a song and dance man. I could
have been a quadruple threat, kind of like a despotic Ken Barry. Dancer, singer,
actor, and I would possess nuclear weapons, the latter being the most threatening
of the four. I once sat on a bus and tried to will myself a menstrual cycle.
All I ended up with was a sense of failure and a mild neuralgia in my incisor
teeth and perhaps a grudging respect for the weaker sex. I love toe cleavage.
For the most part I distrust dogs. I slept in a horse once. It was quite roomy.
On second thought, it was the Ritz. I named my left testicle 'piss' and my
right testicle 'vinegar'. I wrote "It's Raining Men", or so the Christmas
babies told me. Oh yes, I also made a Marzipan voodoo effigy of The Fonze
while I was in coma after smoking some Peruvian prayer hash, but who at the
end of the day can honestly say they haven't done that?
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