Back in 1960, my second wife, Annette Kaye, was babysitting a toddler…a little girl who had quickly taken a liking to my shaggy sideburns and Hai Karate aftershave. Annette had to go to the store for something and left me in charge of the little one. After a few minutes of an unevenly matched game of patty cake, the little girl filled up her onesie with a fecal discharge that would’ve made Bruce Vilanch jealous. Not being well versed in diaper changing, I took her to the kitchen sink to use as a makeshift bidet. She had managed to spackle most of her body, including the crevices within her hairless little pussy. That toddler grew up to be my seventh wife, Shawn Southwick, and to this day, I can’t perform cunnilingus for fear of it tasting like shit. Petersville, Indiana, you’re up!