But I’ll throw a couple tittilators into the ring . . .

I can tie a cherry stem into a knot. In my mouth. With my tongue.

I lived in a treehouse for 5 months. I was an adult, age 23, at the time.

When I sold vintage at the 26th St. Flea Market in Manhattan on Sundays some of my customers were in disguise, big sunglasses, hats, collars pulled up and such, but we vendors all knew who they were– Versace, et al. We had to pretend we didn’t know who they were or they wouldn’t buy vintage clothing from us. And we all knew what they did with that vintage clothing (can we say copy?)

I once caused a spate of UFO sightings to be called in from central NJ, so much so that they made the radio news. An old boyfriend and I constructed hot air balloons out of red or blue colored dry cleaner bags, small bottles stuffed with cotton and alcohol, and framed around the bottom with bent wire coat hangers to hold the bottles in the bottom. We flew them off a scenic outlook (Washington Rock) after testing for wind direction. Nice gentle breeze coming over our shoulder made it perfect.

Robin - I’d like to point out, these comments are not a request to have RMO for appetizers at the book launch party. Maybe a plate for annette, but other than that….

Oh, and Patrick, I’m waiting….

many years ago my husband worked with an engineer, “trudy”, whose husband, “roger”, was completing his ph.d in animal science. trudy was from rural west texas and roger had grown up on cattle ranches in colorado and new mexico. roger soon became the resident expert on castration and regularly traveled to the various university farming facilities located throughout the state to teach his trade. “cutting” etiquette apparently resposes the fruits of labor in the the individual wielding the knife, thus prompting the following call from trudy–(thick, slow drawl) “hey a (long “a”)nnette, roger just got back from a weekend of cuttin’ in **** and i’m fixin’ to make a mess of bulls bawls tonight, ya’all wanna come over for dinner?”–ever eager to demonstrate my receptivity to diverse cultural practices i said (gulp) “sure”. this was followed by an immediate call to my husband in an attempt to feign some excuse to get out of this too hastily accepted invitation, but no luck. i spent the rest of the day in a full-on anxiety attack as i envisioned one of ferdinand’s gigantic testicles sitting in the middle of a plate, perhaps still sporting the stray hair, with me sawing away with my knife and fork trying to maintain conciousness and keep my dry heaving both dry and relatively inconspicuous. imagine my surprise, and relief, to find out they were baby bulls’ balls (seriously, i had no frame of reference)–and delicious at that.

the end

I’ve had the RMO. Why - I’ll never know.

Actually, it was a similar circumstance to the remora. Yes, the remora was intentionally suctioned to my back. I’ll say it is more fun to intentionally suction them to someone else’s back. Especially, if they aren’t expecting it and have a sunburn.

Yes. I’ve dined on calf testicles. (RM oysters)

I do not recommend them.

But, I do recommend Buffalo meat. Low fat, and tastes great.

I bet I could touch the tip of Deborah’s nose with my tongue, too.