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I was down to my glasses and a pair of Superman boxers when I failed to answer in the form of a question.
It was the Friday before Halloween 2006. I was one of the night's three Strip Jeopardy! contestants at No Fish! Go Fish!, a restaurant on Southeast Hawthorne Boulevard. And it was time to lose another garment.
I'd only been in town for a month, and Portland had yet to see me do the full monty. But the ladies in the crowd were shouting that I should take it all off, and the contestant next to me got her finger under the elastic band of my boxers and started to tug. I spent the next 40 minutes totally naked, perched on a barstool in front of 40 people.
"That was really brave," my friend Jason told me on the walk home. "And you've got a pretty nice package."
When you have a religion that espouses “Turn[ing] the other cheek” as a major principle (Matthew 5:38-42, NIV, Bible™ fans!) then you have to expect to be ignored after a while. A predatory school-yard bully will only hunt where the meat is tastiest and at its most succulent, which is when the victim shudders and its fear-centre’s hormone production reaches crisis-point. No hunter worth his salt ever got an adrenaline buzz from the quarry taking every attack on the chin: There’s no sport in it.