My good blooging buddy Teeni from The Vaguetarian Tea Room offered these great questions for me to answer and I am happy to oblige. She did a great job coming up with unusual things to ask and of course I have many strange answers to each. This is like a do-it-yourself meme where you have to tag yourself. If you want to participate, read the instructions on the bottom of this groundbreaking article.

1. Three equally gorgeous women are on the sidelines at the dance – a blond in a wheelchair, a brunette with no arms, and a redhead who is deaf. Which do you ask to dance, and why?

Teeni must be clairvoyant as my ultimate fantasy is to have a threesome with an armless woman, legless woman in a wheelchair, and coached by a deaf redheaded dominatrix who helps the other two move around.

But if I had to choose in asking one of these lovely ladies to dance, I would go for the armless brunette . . . definitely. I would wait for a slow, sensual song so I could hold her sweet armless body tight and close. While nuzzled in her bosom, I’d warmly whisper, “Every time I fantasize about a woman, I envision her armless. Come home with me tonight my love.”

If she became angered she would be unable to slap me. I just hope she’s not a master of armless Thai-boxing. If she said no, I’d run away crying–shattered and confidence destroyed. I’m very sensitive.

2. What advice would you give to your fifteen-year-old self if you could go back in time?

  • Don’t sleep with Mrs. Whitlock my 10th grade math teacher.
  • Travel to Texas and shoot George W. Bush to preemptively prevent the current state of affairs.
  • Give myself a 2009 set of encyclopedias and a list of every sports score. This way I could be the world’s greatest psychic and win the shit out of some sport betting.
  • I’d tell myself to become a security guard at Biloxi High School and date Jessica Alba who lived in Mississippi at one time. I’d get her pregnant. My current blog would feature many photos of our torrid and spectacular love affair. The bragging rights would make me famous.

3. If you could go back to school to become an expert in any one thing, what would it be?

I’d learn French and study fashion design of women’s lingerie to have my name on millions of panties across the world. I would date super models and break up with them after two weeks in nasty public conniption fits–complaining none were beautiful enough to satisfy my ridiculously enigmatic tastes.

4. Make a little story out of this blurb I will give you. You may add to the beginning or the end, or both.

“The friendly technician, who was only moments ago making jokes with me to calm my nerves, was now rushing by me with a large envelope in her hands. She wouldn’t allow her eyes to meet mine on her way by. So yeah, I knew.”

OK . . . here goes:

The friendly technician, who was only moments ago making jokes with me to calm my nerves, was now rushing by me with a large envelope in her hands. She wouldn’t allow her eyes to meet mine on her way by. So yeah, I knew the deal had gone through. Within 30 seconds the mongoloid skank stormed from the audition room with her miniature albino sex slave–walking it on a red silk leash. The technician came back in saying, “They will see you again Mr. Longrod.”

I walk in trembling like a wet puppy just pulled from an ice bath–Randy, Paula and Simon looking me up and down. Randy says, “What’s up dawg? So you want to be the Pope’s private dancer. Tell us what you could do to keep an old guy like him happy and satisfied . . . and be the new Vatican Idol.”

The Pope Drinking Beer--Cheers!

The Pope Drinking Beer--Cheers!

“Paula says, “Wow . . . you look really cute in those Winnie the Pooh undies. And I love that studded dog collar. Answer Randy’s question.”

“I was previously owned by Jerry Falwell and was a bit too wild for him to tame. I’m looking for fame. I’m tired of being a nobody. Before my 2nd set of master-slave parents sold me to the Colombian Mafia at age nine . . . I always loved the Catholic church and dreamed of becoming an altar boy. Pedro Sanchez, my mafia bull whip trainer said I looked great in a bishop’s hat.”

Simon says, “Well get on all fours and give us a twirl-around.”

I flex my muscular thighs, bend deep and hurl myself into an explosive back-flip with half-twist and toe-tuck landing firmly in a full Chinese split. I twirl in madness with majestic dexterousness–buckling my spine like a King Cobra and blast myself into a handstand on my fingertips–finishing off with triple somersault and stick the landing solid and magnetic.

“Johnny Longrod . . . you de bomb,” says Randy.

Simon, staggered by my performance says, “You’re the best I’ve ever seen. Paula . . . yes or no?”

“Yes! Freaking awesome. And totally relevant.”

Randy stands applauding, “You’re goin’ to the Vatican baby!”

5. Ginger or Mary Ann and why?

Mary Ann for sure. She smokes pot and has a tight body. We would fall in love and kill the other castaways for food. I’d keep the professor alive to build things for me. I thought Ginger was too high maintenance and too into her own looks. Mary Ann and I would be one stinky couple without soap or deodorant. As long as we had each other it’d be OK.

“The professor and Mary Ann . . . and Revellian, here on Gilligan’s Isle.”

If you haven’t done this interview yet and would like to, then follow these instructions:

1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.”
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

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