Dancing the polka with Miss El Cajon
I always go for it in dreams. I mean, you never know, Oscar Wilde could be just the person you need to calm the raging torrent of Chris in your life. When you're lying on your urine soaked deathbed 4-5 weeks from now, you'll wish you'd had a dream fling with a noted author.
Well, Linus' compelling prediction nearly makes me rather regret not succumbing to Anthony Michael Hall's pleas several years ago. I was chauffeuring him through the English countryside in a bright yellow, early-model Volkswagen Beetle. He kept carrying on about needing some assistance, and he refused to elaborate on precisely what sort of assistance he required. Since I was unable to determine the issue in the mirror, I pulled off to the side of the road, turned in my seat, and beheld his engorgement.He asked, "Won't you please help me?", and then simpered in a most vile, unctuous manner."I most certainly shall not!" I roared and proceeded to drive him to his destination, because I, at least, was a professional.
I had Graham Norton try it on when I was working the door at a gay bar in Cardiff.Turned him down politely of course.
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