"Don't say shit!" she screamed, swiveling

"Don't say shit!" she screamed, swiveling her head like the night before under completely different circumstances. "Even if you DO talk to the hand, only one of my fingers has

been cleaned. The other fingers have a mysterious musk on them the origins of which will remain nameless. Now, if you don't want me to stick

feathers in my hair, stop plucking the chickens. But where did the mysterious musk come from? I decided to consult a

a muscologist I new from when I worked for the Whale survey in Japan. I flipped open my whaleskin address book and looked for Yoshi's phone number.

He owned a sushi place that served good whale blubber, but I was more interested in hitching up with his sister Saki. In my eyes, she was 140 kilos of hot

yellow tail. I longed dip my maki in her sauce. She had other ideas. I sat in the same spot at the counter every day, but she never saw me. In desperation, I

brought in my own sushi, figuring that this was the no-no that would finally get me noticed. She took one look and asked if mind if she changed the channel on the TV. "Wasabi!" was

on, but I'd already seen this episode. I told her "no" anyway, because I wasn't about to watch another episode of Oprah today. I bitterly returned to my tiger roll and thought

"Tiger doesn't taste near as good as they said it would." We turned back to the television to watch the live match of