If I were to strip down
to just my nationality. If
you were to reduce me to
the most revolting buzzword.
It’s like two punchlines walked
into a bar wearing polka-dotted
parkas. “Did one of them happen
to be Dorothy Parker?” you ask,
all innocent-like. “How should
I know, you naughty boy,” I
reply, “let’s try it and find out.”
