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So my latest episode of the Two Writers Slinging Yang podcast was a weird one that I’d long wanted to do—me breaking down my first year as a journalist. Here’s the link.

Yet while I use the 40 allotted minutes to discuss all sorts of mayhem—crossing police tape, writing about condoms, a prostitution sting gone bad—I’d say what’s evoked the most attention is a very brief reference to spans of boredom resulting in me jerking off to Tanya Tucker, a country singer of some note.

Let me explain …

It was 1995. My girlfriend dumped me. We used to receive tons of free CDs sent by record companies. One was Tanya Tucker’s box set. I had no interest in Tanya Tucker. Or country music. But one day a co-worker told a story about his friend, who allegedly was at a party that Tucker also had attended.

Tucker (the story goes) approached my friend and said, “You want to fuck me. I know it, you know it. So let’s go somewhere.”

Mind. Blown.

Was it true? Who the hell knows? Probably not. But, again, I was 23 and painfully lonely and painfully sexually repressed, and the above Tucker photo, and the story, and … yeah.

Here’s Tanya Tucker now, in 2019.

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Some things are hard to explain.

PS: To be clear, I’m not shaming Tanya Tucker. She’s 60 and has lived a really hard life.

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