Fri, 06 Jul 2001

Hi Mister Wonderful!

I think it's that time!

You know, how a few years ago, I asked you if you could have a one night stand with a poet, painter, thief, musician, sculptor, or completely hairless person who read a lot, which would you choose? I remember how lascivious you became, how you licked your lips, pleaded with me if you could choose one of each? Well, it's that time! Tell us who you want to bunk with.


Anne Sexton


Dear Bob Barker,

Bunk? Are we at camp? Oooh! I'm in charge of the fire making and the knot tying. We'll wear really high socks and dance in our underwear and ride horses at midnight and tell stories until we're shivering and generally have a saucy good time. Don't go swimming in Turkey Pond, though. There's things under the water.

The last time this query was posed ("FUZZY WUZZY WONDER") Mister Wonderful had just been to New Orleans and getting him to settle on any one thing was like trying to get Paul McCartney to stop whistling the panties off lunch ladies while removing their bras with his eyebrows. But we've matured since then.

This is just for informational purposes, right? I mean, I'm not going to divulge my interests then be startled awake by a knock at the door and spend a night of indescribable ecstasy in the arms of a veiled stranger, only to discover a Death Star of debt on my credit cards in the morning, right? Just making sure, because Mister Malice said he wouldn't lend me any more cash after the last time.

The choice is simple. The poet would tell tales out of school, the painter wouldn't have any perspective, the thief would steal my heart, the musician would try to play me, and the sculptor would chisel away until nothing much was left of me.

I have to go with the bald lectrice. I am a thing what is meant to be read.