In Palinode's Personals

As I am a married Palinode, I don't go around filling out online personals and displaying my beaky mug all over the internet. But if I did:

Last great book I read: An old paperback called Why Thor Is My Guardian And Yours.

Favourite on-screen Sex Scene: Those slugs from Microcosmos.*

Celebrity I resemble most: I am a cesium isotope held in null-space and rolled up in the eighth dimension, so probably Michael Moriarty.

Best or worst lie I've ever told: My sudden impotence does not in any way interfere with your sexual pleasure. Please have a refreshing beverage and we can engage in conversation.

If I could be anywhere at the moment: The now-fashionable meat-packing district, where the endless parties and chic restaurants can never banish the ghosts of old pissed-off meatpackers.

Song or album that puts me in the mood: The cry of the humpback whale in the cold Atlantic depths, keening for its mate. A scratchy 45 of Funky Town that my mother sold for five cents at a yard sale in 1985. My sex life never recovered from that sale.

The five items I can't live without: A tube of lipstick from a lipstick lesbian,** a calendar with extra storage pockets, a plasteel synthskin for living in hard vacuum, a class action suit for all occasions, a navy blue pee coat.

In my bedroom you'll find: Manta ray assembly kit, several botched manta rays, crappy instruction manual

Why you should get to know me: I am an artefact from a distant star system, part of a benevolent intelligence sent back from the future. Who can say why I'm here and how it is I run up such huge phone bills?

Most humbling moment: Getting roughed up by Lance Bass.

More about what I'm looking for: Attention and unearned praise.

*This answer is actually true. I've never seen humans get as slinky as those slugs.

**Or a stick of eyeliner from an eyeliner lesbian.