Me: “Sure. Just set me up with a good introduction and include the backstory, so that I’m not forever known as that schizophrenic who couldn’t stop talking about his penis.”
Nuke: “Well it’s a little too late for that, Marjorie.”
Anywhoozle, that’s how I ended up onstage at a gay sports bar, regaling the unsuspecting, office-casual patrons with the epic saga of my dick’s triumphant win at the 1976 Miss Georgia World pageant. Most of the crowd just stared at me in mute horror, but let me tell you, the bartender was enchanted. Were I a drinking man, I totally would’ve tipped him bountifully.
Later, as the fundraiser was wrapping up, somebody asked Tank if what I’d performed was an original spokenword composition. For future reference, here’s the correct way to answer that question:
Them: “Was that an original spokenword composition?”
Tank: “Are you old enough to remember Designing Women?”
Tank: “Then yes. Yes, it was.”
Nuke and Rok also mentioned me in one of their songs as a certain someone who “drinks water pure and goes to bed quite sober.” (According to the lyrics, I’ll be taking a permanent dirt nap sometime in the early Fall.) It’s a good thing Nuke thought ahead and immortalized me in verse, because after my monologue, the looks on the audience’s faces were less “let us spread glad tidings of this remarkable talent to the ends of the earth” and more “let’s seriously just pretend that never happened.”