Seventeen Embarrassing Confessions

by David Bryant

Although I've often said that my favorite piece of music is Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, it's really Lipps Inc.'s Funky Town.
To keep my competitive edge, I frequently set challenges for myself. Recently, I learned how to knead bread dough by clenching and unclenching my buttocks.
I just learned that, contrary to rumor, Catherine the Great wasn't really crushed to death while attempting intercourse with a horse. I guess all those childhood hours I spent playing with Barbie and Pokey weren't so historically accurate after all.
I like to peel dead skin off the callouses on the bottoms of my feet, but only at expensive French restaurants.
One night I got really drunk and woke up the next day with nipples tattooed on my back.
As a teenager I spent years mastering the difficult art of ventriloquism, but as an adult the only time I get to use it is at open-casket funerals.
One time I killed a guy in an airport men's room by stabbing him in the throat with a piece of coat-hanger wire. I left him propped up in the handicapped stall. Then, when I was cleaning up the blood with some of those damned non-absorbent brown paper towels, I got some water on the front of my pants and it looked like I'd pissed myself. Boy, was my face red.
Last week I had a Spice Girls song stuck in my head for several hours, and to my eternal shame ritual suicide never once crossed my mind.
Just for effect, I deliberately soil myself on crowded elevators.
I put some variety in my spiritual life by visiting different congregations, slipping hallucinogens into the sacramental wine, and then "speaking in tongues".
If you were at my house for dinner last Monday night, those weren't really joke icecubes.
I don't have a lot a patience. That's something I learned the night I tried to use one of those electric juicers to dispose of a body.
When I was younger, my secret dream was to be a stage magician. Unfortunately, I wasn't very good. As a result, most of my ex-girlfriends have to wear one-piece bathing suits.
I like to visit friends in the hospital and perform their medical charts with a slide whistle.
Once I saw an incredibly obscene, vile pornographic video that depicted every filthy, depraved, stomach-churningly abberant sexual act imaginable. I wouldn't have even finished watching the foul thing if I weren't the producer.
When the doctor tells me to turn my head and cough, I just moan softly and ask for his home phone number.
To me, there's nothing in the world more entertaining than undergoing a full body-cavity search thirty minutes after eating a big plate of greasy enchiladas.

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