My favorite body part as a child was my hands and knees,

until I found the secret of properly used feet and legs.

As a teenager, my favorite part was undoubtedly my penis.

Even my dreams were filled with the potential pleasures

that this pleasant appendage could command.


After high school my favorite part was my vocal chords.

Though I could warble like Elvis, I could not bring myself

to wobble like Elvis, nor did my hair support trademark duck tails.

It took me a while to respect my hands as a tool

that could produce something people might want.


Later, as the other body parts tired and went on strike,

I finally learned to love my brain. I am not certain

why it took so long to discover the value of my brain,

but I have an inkling it was simply too obvious to be seen.


My most disliked body part was my hair, which never pleased me.

I parted it right, parted it left, parted it center, then no part at all.

I wore it short, I wore it long, I wore it straight, I wore it curly.

It did not please me much. I longed for Clint Eastwood or Gregory Peck hair.

Then I decided it was not good to dislike my hair, so I ignored it.


My most undependable body part was my stomach and intestines.

The stomach would rumble at the most inappropriate times.

The intestines would emit an embarrassing and not so noble gas.

This was noticed by others who would look at me with upturned noses.

It took too long to realize that my favorite body part should have been my smile.

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