At the imaginary cocktail party, I was asked "Were you ever published?" I smiled and said "it's a long story but no". Wait. You wanna hear about it? Here goes:

I put together this piece which I titled Polish My Perineum. It featured an ambidextrous pin-puller who had, among others, a passion for that pronounced proclivity as she dashed through life's interludes. It made its way through various readers who changed the name to Polish The Perineum and eventually ended up under the Modafinil-primed eyes of an editor who saw it as The Polish Perineum, a tale about Lech Walenska's unheralded brother Snog and forwarded it to the Socio-hysterical historical group where it laid in a box with other unread rags.

That was last night's gem contrived as I hummed Accommodation is funny, it may make a cloudy day sunny. You can't buy this kind of paradise as long as my head doesn't land on La La Land eternally. I got lucky back in the last millennium so excuse my peacocking, Drew.