--My real name is Trudy Backspackle

--My normal body temperature is 136.3°F

--I weigh more than a Dodge Caravan but less than two Dodge Caravans

--I hold the world record for most world records involving creamed corn, two of which were earned only about 20 seconds apart: most creamed corn consumed in under 10 minutes, and most creamed corn thrown up in under 10 seconds.

--I was able to successfully leave my sofa by gassing at a precise body-mass-to-PSI ratio while simultaneously attempting to stand, a maneuver known medically as "Trendelenburg's Fulcrum." Then I took about three steps before I fell through a weak spot in the livingroom floor, crashed through my downstairs neighbor's floor and then through 27 more floors before I finally slammed into the building basement, where fortunately a washing machine broke my fall. After I regained consciousness, I rolled around a bit and found that I'd only sprained a shoulder and maybe bruised an arm, so I was able to take the freight elevator back up with little effort. When I got back to my apartment, I was so disoriented that I immediately fell back through the open floor and plummeted all 29 stories again into the basement, bulls-eyed the pancaked washing machine and then blasted through the basement floor into what I was later told was a previously undocumented two story sub-basement, which was allegedly used during the prohibition era by a little known local entrepreneur-slash-charlatan named Lyle S. Pinkerton Jr., known for "Pinkerton's Potions" which were essentially juniper berries floating in horse piss. It was pretty neat to be part of that discovery process and it was the talk of the town for a couple days.

--I stopped participating in eating contests after the "Crawford County Catastrophe of 2012," or "The 2012 Dumpling Disaster" depending on which paper you read. Long story short, about 6 minutes into the contest, I'd consumed just north of 2,800 fried dumplings and was going strong when I suddenly locked up and my eyes went wide.

Now, I have to quickly mention a woman in the audience who would soon come to be known as "The Oracle of Crawford County," because at about the same time, an elderly woman near the back stood up, pointed toward the stage, and screamed just awfully at the top of her lungs as though she *knew* something was about to happen, like she had some kind of premonition. This fact would bubble up into the prevailing narrative over the next few days, because she indeed did not survive and somehow knew her fate. In any case, all eyes in the audience snapped toward her in surprise and confusion, but only for a moment because events on stage began to happen fast.

I stood up suddenly, clutching my throat and sending my four chairs blasting out behind me. One of the quick-thinking refs, who took a hard pass on the Heimlich (I have a weight problem), grabbed a folding chair and began to swing it by its legs full force into my quaking gut, which to make room for the dumplings had expanded to almost 3 times its normal size. At this point, most people in the audience were pointing and making quite a ruckus, and the other contestants were scrambling to get off the stage. On the 7th or 8th swing, the softball-sized mass of gummed-up dumplings dislodged from my trachea and rocketed into the crowd at about Mach 1, where it connected with the very same woman who'd first stood, the Oracle. With a sickening sort of thud, her head popped right off and went sailing backwards, up and out at a clean 45 (and was only visible on video of the event for a *single* frame, to give you some idea of the velocities involved). For a couple terrifying seconds, her animated body clawed wildly at audience members around her, blood and savory dipping sauce streaming from her scuttling fingers. All hell broke loose, chairs flying, tables overturning and everyone was screaming and scrambling in different directions. The rest of the dumplings came right on up and like a roaring human A-10 Warthog, I belted them into the audience in a terrific salvo of fried dough, scallions, and diced shrimp. It was at about this point that my memory gets fuzzy, but I'm told I was in a blind panic, wheeling about the stage like an enraged Sasquatch, knocking over the table, the podium, and I'm told I tore down and drop-kicked the "Welcome to the 22nd Annual Crawford County 'Down the Dumplings!' Extravaganza" sign over the audience and nearly 200 meters into the parking lot, where they found it lodged in a minivan windshield. By the time everything settled down, it was a breathtaking hellscape of dough and blood and shrimp and soy sauce-based red wine vinegar dipping sauce, like a bomb had gone off in a cannibal's cauldron of devil's gumbo. Now technically, it wasn't my fault. Nevertheless, for whatever reason, I was banned from future participation and am still fighting a couple lawsuits for "emotional distress" or whatever.

--A few years ago, I had the opportunity to participate in a machine learning study at Georgia Tech. I don't remember all the specifics but it had something to do with automated high reliability gender determination for edge case body geometries, or something like that. Anyway, I was supposed to stand in front of this special camera array and turn slightly every time the screen flashed a gender, but before we could even get going, the screen began cycling through the words "cape buffalo" then "weather balloon," "exoplanet" and "USS Gerald R. Ford" in increasingly rapid succession before something started sparking and snapping and I could smell burning plastic or rubber, not really sure what it was. Then some alarm went off and gas started blasting into the room (somebody said it was argon). The research staff took off like bats out of hell into the hall and out of sight, while I panicked and plowed through the nearest wall and ended up in the parking lot. I didn't get invited back but I hope their study went really well as I found it super interesting.