No one has ever ripped open my shirt to reveal that I’m wearing a wire, requiring me to fight my way out of the room using just my wits and the objects at hand.

Semi-related: I have never rappeled down anything.

Speaking of shirts: 1974. Those Superfly shirts with the shiny top and the clingy knit part over the stomach. Superfly didn’t even look good in those, and he looked good in everything. What the hell was I thinking?

While we’re on the subject: Narrowly missing the Free Love era. I mean, right?

My ill-advised foray into folk art, with particular emphasis on the decoupage period. Side note: Prices slashed in my Etsy store!

Use of the following phrases, in no particular order:

“Okey smokey.”

“Boom goes the dynamite.”

“Winner winner chicken dinner.”

Certain musical choices. I’m not saying Seals and Crofts didn’t have a right to earn a living. I’m just saying I didn’t have to help.

That guy I killed. It was an accident and he was pretty cool about it, but still.

My self-published novel, THE BOY WHO WAS LONELY UNTIL HIS SELF-PUBLISHED NOVEL SOLD SO MANY COPIES HE COULD BUY AND SELL ALL YOU BASTARDS.

Every time I have ever done a Christopher Walken impression, except that one time I nailed it.

I shared a video on Facebook. It was the one with the bear cubs in a dumpster. I’ve never for a moment felt clean since I did it.

The Mandan Indian ritual of Okipa, in which I was suspended from the ceiling of a hunting lodge by wooden skewers inserted behind my chest muscles until I fainted, which I did very, very quickly. (Note: I am not Mandan. The whole thing was a misunderstanding: I entered the lodge under the erroneous impression that it was the site of a personal appearance by actor Robert Mandan, who played Chester Tate on the sitcom “Soap.”)

My poorly-received 2011 TED talk, “How To Get Rich By Exploiting Your Elderly In-Laws” (video no longer available).

The six months in the Eighties when I commuted to my job at Publix in a nitro-burning funny car. Plus: Zero to sixty in 1.8 seconds. Minuses: Difficulty in securing fuel-grade nitro; expense; insurance; fires.

The haircut my wife refers to as the “Flock of Seagulls.” Related: Ever showing my wife a picture of the band A Flock of Seagulls.

I’m the guy who came up with “Zumba.” Not the concept; the name. It seemed like an obvious joke at the time. Some of my gym buddies and I were sitting around one day and they were trying to come up with a name for their fitness class, and one of them said “It should sound sort of sexy” and I started pitching: “What about Rhythm-size? Or ExerJam?” And they kept saying, “No, sexy. It has to be sexy.” And finally I got annoyed and snapped: “Well, why don't you just call it Zumba or something?” Honestly, I never dreamed they’d take it and run with it. Go know.