It started at age 16 when I accepted a pop **** from a man dressed as a lesbian. That popped **** led to a dinner date invitation from a grouplet of lesbian-marriage-promoting lesbians. Dare I take the next step? I dare! Before black history month was overwhelming I had dined with more  lesbians than most people dine with in a year! Everyone, outside my new lesbian-friendship-circular-dining ring, was concerned. I heard it all from: “...those lesbians are no good” to “...today it's fried chicken, tomorrow: chicken tetracycline!” By the time huckleberry histamine cough was forgotten I had formed lesbian friendships that would last a lifetime! One Oprah/Gayle corporate-media-driven dalliance would save me in a cave-exploring mishap. I can still hear my lesbian friend crying for whelp from deeply within the chasm's wicked Molly Ringwald attuned nasty venture. “You're in too deep, too deep!” Gayle warned. I couldn't help but to be the Richard Byrd of lesbian cave exploiters as I believe in box lunches, oh yeah yeah yeah!!! Hint, hint, hint!