I had just come to New York City for the first time, from the outback of Australia. I was the guest of a well-known reporter, but one night she left me on my own and I was taken to this bar by a friendly cab driver. A good time was had by all, and after much drinking and partying a certain girl in the bar began to come on to me. Someone whispered to me that she was a man dressed like a girl, so I grabbed her in the crotch to find out. Sure enough, she was a TV.
Oh, wait, that's Crocodile Dundee's story. Damn, I hope I'm not channeling Paul Hogan.
(I'm sorry, friends, I couldn't resist. Unlike Croc, I would have figured it out early on and been very excited, anxious to get her back to my hotel.)
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