TOTO TALKS!

by Randall David Cook

61 West 73rd St., Apt. A

New York, NY 10023
917.679.8224
RandallDavidCook@gmail.com
February 2019
 2

CHARACTER

TOTO, true age unknown, a terrier famous for her journey down the golden
brick road, now a fabulous veteran of both drag-queen and literary-festival
circuits, the only canine (or human, for that matter) to be thus honored,
likely because not only is she a friend of Dorothy, she’s Dorothy’s BEST
friend. Should be dressed in black and silver and (faux) fur, with silver
shoes if at all possible.

SETTING

The present.

NOW THAT TOTO’S TALKING, A NOTE ON THE

LANGUAGE OF POLARI

Toto sprinkles Polari liberally in her phrasing, as she learned the language
during long tours and stays in the U.K. in the 1950’s and 1960’s and now
desires to keep it alive in the 21st century.

A mishmash vocabulary of Italian, Romani, Yiddish, Cockney rhyming slang

and backslang, Polari is an almost-lost secret language that was mainly
used by gay men, seafarers, carnival workers and people of the theater.

Polari uses camp as a powerful verbal weapon, its later American

equivalent being the brilliant jargon created at the Vogue Balls in Harlem in
the 1980’s that is still in popular use today (including by Toto) and
expanding, in no small part thanks to RuPaul’s brilliant televised drag
races.

As there’s no reason to keep Polari a secret these days, a glossary of the

Polari words and expressions used in this text are provided at the end of
the play. 

 3

ACT ONE, THE ONE AND ONLY

TOTO enters to loud, fun dance music

and immediately gets the audience to
clap along as she sort of dances. She’s
done tour circuits for decades and
knows how to handle a crowd and get
the show started. She carries an
oversized picnic basket and places it on
a chair.

TOTO
Bona to vada your dolly old eeks! How lovely to see all your pretty faces.

Have you ever noticed that dogs never tire of attention? What differs
among my species — Canis familiaris for you Latin lovers out there — is
the kind of attention. The needy ones want endless belly rubs. The overly
hyper breeds want tennis balls tossed over and over again. Moi? I want to
put on a show.

That’s right. After all these years, I still love performing. My adoring fans
frequently ask me: “Toto, don’t you ever get tired of the nightclubs and the
literary festivals?” And “Isn’t it exhausting being on tour all the time,
traveling to all those countries promoting your books and your product
lines?”

The answer is always the same: Hell to the no!

 4

I’m the luckiest dog alive. Which brings me to the big question I know many
of you’ve been dyin’ to ask: Toto’s alive?

Mais oui, ducky! Alive, and glorious!

Cats aren’t the only house pets that get extra lives. Kitties get nine, right?
Dogs immortalized in classic books gets at least twice that many. And trust,
I am living my best life right now. I mean, how many canines do you know
that get to cavort with the likes of Salman Rushdie and Margaret Atwood by
day and kiki with drag queens and go-go boys at night?

Not Lassie. She’s a a homebound dullard, that collie bitch. And don’t get
me started on those dalmations made famous by Disney. Temperamental!
Spend a day with them and you’ll wish nasty ole Cruella much future
success with her fur business.

But me, I play well with others in any locale. I’m good in a pack. Yes, I do
prefer clubs to bookstores, cause at venues like this one I can use all the
Billingsgate I like without people flinching. But grandmothers and children
love me too, people, cause I can behave like a well-trained bitch when I
need to and werk a proper literary festival proud like the best of’em.

It’s all good. And no flies, I’m happy to be anywhere but Kansas.

Kansas.
 5

When God blessed America, She, with a capital S, didn’t mean to include
feckin’ Kansas.

Kansas is grey. And not the good kind. Not tasty Earl Grey. And not
Christian Grey with his fifty shades. Ooh la la. That Grey can tie up me
lally-pegs any ole day. Nope. Kansas is cadaver grey. Moldy-cheese grey.
How grey is it? So grey it’s impossible to titivate.

TOTO reaches into the basket and pulls

out a small bell, which she rings.

Ding Ding! Time for a Teachable Moment! Because not only is this show
going to be entertainin’, it’s also gonna be enlightenin’.

Some of you are thinking: You’re a dog. What do you know from colors?

Contrary to misguided biped belief, we canines see more than black, white
and yes, grey. We also see blues and violets and yellows, which means,
Yassss Kweeens, I know the damn color of that brick road Dorothy hauled
my hairy ass down.

What we don’t see are what you bipeds call reds, oranges and greens,
which means, Yassss Kweeens, that the Emerald City could have been the
Shit Brown City and I wouldn’t have known the difference.

Teachable Moment Una terminated!

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TOTO rings the bell.

Back to Kansas. Cause that’s where my story officially begins. And origins
are important, doncha think?

That’s why I’ve had my DNA tested. It’s what one does nowadays. Slobber
on some paper, put it in a tube and wait for a few weeks to find out that
your boyfriend is actually your long-lost twin. Good times!

TOTO reaches into the basket and pulls

out an envelope.

And here are the official results! My assistant Janet handed these to me
this morning, but I thought it’d be fantabulosa to reveal them here live and
in person, with you, my adoring audience full of fellow friends of Dorothy.
Later. When the suspense is unbearable.

Toto puts the envelope back in the

basket.

I do have a feeling I wasted my dinero getting that test done. It’s obvs I’m a
terrier. But am I a Cairn? A Scottie? Possibly a Yorkie? Dunno. And
whereas my ancestors had run of the endless peaks and hills of the
Scottish Highlands, I got rows upon rows of… corn. For years I asked
myself, as I’d run from flat plain to flat plain, how the hell did I end up here?
 7

Conclusion: At some point one of my foredaddies or foremamas got

kidnapped and put on a boat and sailed across the pond, then got carried
off by train or bus or covered wagon to the middle of Greyville, Kansas to
work as a ratter. My kind don’t scrapbook or keep diaries, so what I’m tellin’
you is an uneducated guess, but I bet I’m right, and I’m certain those DNA
results — which I will reveal later in the show — will only confirm what I
already know.

I digress. But you need this background to understand why I, Toto, ran like
hell for that tornado when I saw it comin’!

Dorothy was nice and all that — a sweeter young girl you never could meet
— but after one look at that twister movin’ and shakin’ everything in sight I
thought: This is my chance. I gotta catch this ride.

That cyclone didn’t scare me none, not compared to the redundancy of

dying in Kansas.

So off I went. Trot trot trot.

Aunt Em and Uncle Henry had already run down to the underground cellar
and thought my girl Dorothy was right behind’em, but nope, Dorothy loved
me too much to leave me behind so the dumb byotch chased after me.
 8

And the rest is the story you think you all know. The one written by Daddy
Frank, the one later adapted into a much-beloved film musical starring Judy
and my friend Terry, who did a wonderful job portraying moi. I must admit I
was a bit dismayed when I found out a bitch was playing me, but that’s
before I discovered who and what I really am. Now it seems like the
powers-that-be at MGM knew something before I did.

TOTO rings the bell.

Teachable Moment Dewey!

Are you aware there was a movie made before the one-you-know in 1939?
Mmm-hmm. A 1925 silent film written and directed by its star, Larry Semon.

Yes, that’s his name. I am not mispronouncing it for effect. Can’t make this
kind of cray-cray up.

Well, Mr. Semon gave birth to the first full-length celluloid version of Oz, but
you know what that clown did? He cut me from the movie and made the
Scarecrow the star.

That was some cold shit.

Let me tell you how busted that endeavor turned out. The film lost a
fortune, causing Mr. Semon to have a nervous breakdown and be admitted
 9

to a sanatorium where he died of tuberculosis AND pneumonia, cause one

deadly infection ain’t sufficient punishment for omitting me from your movie.
But hey, everyone learned their lesson and the next time they put Oz on
camera I was rightfully returned to my story and the result is a legendary
film classic.

An explosion of canned applause.

Thank you, thank you.

TOTO rings the bell.

Back to storm-ridden Kansas. So I’m running for that cyclone as fast as my

four legs will take me. My moment had arrived.

I admit that I did get a wee bit frightened as fences and cows and goats
started lifting up off the ground and flying here, there, and everywhere. And
pigs. Pigs were flying. Stunning. That’s when I knew I had places to go!

But Dorothy came after me. After all, I was her best friend.

And she thought I’d lost my mind. And I had. With excitement!

Somehow Dorothy caught me and ran back into the shack, which got lifted
into the sky and stayed aloft for hours before landing on a smelly whore in
what I was soon to learn was a place called Oz.
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And let me tell you: Oz was fantabulosa!

I could hardly believe my eyes. Be gone, grey! Be gone! Color everywhere!

Oz was giving me life! I was gagging on it!

You know that feeling you get when you walk into a bookstore, or
someplace that relaxes you instantly to the point that you immediately have
to eliminate? Well, that’s exactly how Oz felt on my bowels. And that’s why I
lifted my leg — I lifted then, but now that I’m a lady I squat — and peed all
over the legs of that odorous wench who was now squashed under our
traveling shack.

And guess what I discovered after delightful urination? The Golden Brick
Road got much shinier! All those years in grey Kansas and I couldn’t do a
thing about it. But here in Oz, I could pee and make things prettier.

So that’s what I did. I pissed every chance I got on those bricks. Piss piss
piss. Shiny shiny shiny. So pretty.

No one thanked me though. All that effort and not one word of appreciation.
In fact, I saw a Munchie or two giving me shady face, which made me want
to just lift that back leg of mine a little bit higher.

Picture the scene. We are in Oz. I’m thrilled. The Munchies seem very nice,
and they’re closer to my size, which will make it easier for me to jump up
 11

and kiss them as I please. And I’m peeing here, there and everywhere,
trying to do my part to prettify this already ah-mazing place. It’s all
perfecto… except Dorothy seems to be in some kind of crisis. The byotch
wants to go BACK to Kansas!

Okay, to be fair, she’s just a girl. A young girl who has yet to discover the
joy of tampons. In the movie, Judy Garland played her as a strapping
teenager cause that’s who Judy was. And I mean strapping literally, cause
apparently every day on set they had to tape down Judy’s wellets. (TOTO
grabs her chest with both hands).

But that wasn’t my Dorothy. My Dorothy was many years younger than that,
with no wellets to speak of. Uh uh. Her chest, like her personality, was flat.
But despite that and the fact that she was rather simple and had bad taste
in clothes, I am a smart dog and am not one to bite the hand that feeds me.
She took care of me, and I loved her for it.

L’amour, l’amour, l’amour. Makes us do crazy things, doesn’t it? Gets so

many of us in trouble. L’amour usually lands its victims in prison,
bankruptcy or show business. Even the best-case romantic scenario
involves having offspring and drinking lots of wine. In my situation, love
meant I had to help Dorothy get back to Kansas, no matter how much I
wanted to stay right where my paws were. Some Munchies and an old
witch told us only the Wizard could get Dorothy back to Kansas, and that
 12

we’d have to walk across the country to find him. So Dorothy stole the
silver shoes off the wench crushed beneath our house and off we went!

Notice I said them shoes silver. And that an old witch told us where to go.
The movie people changed the shoes from silver to ruby slippers to take
advantage of Technicolor, and Glinda the pretty witch didn’t show up till the
end of our travels. We in the biz call these kinds of changes artistic license.
That happens a lot when Hollywood gets a hold of your story. But you are
only gonna get the straight and terrible truth from me, darlings, cause I am
All Tea, All Shade when it comes to talking about my escape from Kansas.

How did I know all of what was going on, some of you are asking, if I’m a
dog?

Oh, gurl! I understood everything that was being said and going on. And I
could talk. Seriously. Do you think a dog can’t talk in a place where
monkeys can fly and trees throw apples?

I could talk. I just chose not to.

And now I’m making up for lost time! Can’t shut this bitch up!

Now for a word that’s not from one of our sponsors…

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TOTO walks offstage and returns

immediately holding a toilet seat that
has Toto written on it.

This is a Toto Toilet. Or as its manfacturers like to call it, a Toto Washlet
Bidet Toilet Seat. Do you prefer soothing warm water over traditional toilet
paper? Then a Toto Toilet is just for you.

For those unfamiliar with these exciting shitters, this ain’t a real Toto Toilet
seat. They expensive. More than the budget of this show.

But I bring this out because one of the producers of this show, when he
heard the title Toto Talks, thought the show was going to be about a talking
toilet seat. And he, of course, thought that was a great idea and funded this
show immediately.

Sucker.

It’s amazing having an electronic Japanese bidet named in your honor. I

hope all of you can garner such acclaim in your lifetimes.

TOTO tosses the toilet seat offstage.

My assistant Janet thinks I have ADD.

I don’t. I’m just a dog.

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We are easily distracted.

Focus, Toto. Focus. Good doggy. Positive behavior deserves positive

reinforcement.
TOTO pulls a flask out of the picnic
basket and shoots some booze down
her throat.

A little sippy sippy never hurt anyone. Unless you can’t stop sipping. And
that happens to a lot of us in show business. No one said it was gonna be
easy being on the road…

The road!

That’s where we were. The yellow brick road, on our way to see the Wizard
so I could ship my girl Dorothy back to Kansas.

We weren’t alone, you know.

First we met Strawman. He was nice. Nice but weird. He moved funny. I
didn’t warm up to him at first. Uh uh. Not until I was absolutely certain he
wasn’t housing any rats in that body of his. I hate rats. But once I sniffed
and poked around and determined that he was rodent-free, I was fine. I
clearly didn’t feel like talking, and Dorothy needed someone to chat with, so
it was beneficial for all if he could tag along.
 15

Except he wouldn’t nish the chat about having no brains, and that started
workin’ my nerves. But he was sweet and patient and listened to Dorothy
talk about Kansas, Kansas, Kansas.

Finally, at some point Strawman looked at her and said: “I cannot

understand why you should wish to leave this beautiful country and go back
to the dry, gray place you call Kansas.”

Preach, Strawman! Preach!

And do you know what dumb Dorothy said in response? And yes, this is
when I knew Dorothy was a bit touched in the head and likely to end up on
the short bus.

“This is because you have no brains. No matter how dreary and gray our
homes are, people of flesh and blood would rather live there than any other
country, no matter how beautiful. There is no place like home.”

Gurl, please! Home sucked.

Strawman, bless his grainy soul, got the last word in: “It is fortunate for
Kansas that you have brains.”
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SHADE! Shade, gurl, shade! Since Oz is pretty much irony- and sarcasm-
free, dumb Dorothy didn’t catch the sass. But I did. And from that moment
on, Strawman was truly part of my pack.

Shortly thereafter we met the Metalman.

And by met, I mean I saw this weird thingamajig in the field and tried to bite
it.

Hurt my teeth like a motherfucker.

So I backed off and let Dorothy and Strawman deal with him.

Unlike Strawman, who’d only been stuffed the day before by a Munchie
farmer, Metalman had been a real person and had an amazingly sad
backstory.

This backstory was omitted from the MGM film. Artistic license.

But I’m gonna spill that tea. Metalman had a name: Nick Chopper. And yes,
as you can guess from that amazingly creative surname, Nick chopped
down trees in the forests of Oz for a living.
 17

Well, one day sweet lumberjack Nick fell in love with a Munchie lady named
Nimmie Amee. And what did I say about l’amour, l’amour, l’amour? It gets
you in trouble.

Turns out Nimmie Amee was a servant for a lazy old biddy who didn’t want
to give her up, and then as now it’s hard to find good help.

Trust me. I know. Janet is the third assistant I’ve had in as many months.
It’s a challenge to find people who know how to anticipate my very basic
needs: Cleaning. Cooking. Expressing my Anal Glands.

Remember me mentioning that smelly whore that got squished by our

shack when we landed in Oz? Well, turns out she was a witch! I had been
too busy titivating the yellow brick road to pay attention to what was being
said in that moment, but yep, that human pancake was the Wicked Witch of
the East.

The lazy old biddy had gone and bribed her to stop Nimmie Amee from
eloping with Nick. What was that bribe, you ask? A pot of gold? A thousand
acres? Uh uh. Two sheep and a cow. And you know what that smelly whore
witch did to Nick for two damn sheep and a cow? She put a spell on Nick’s
axe. Poor Nick went to work and the axe chopped off his left leg. Chop,
plop.
 18

But Nick did not despair. Oh no. He asked the local tinsmith to make him a
new one, which he did. Looked great, worked fine.

Nick returned to work. The enchanted axe chopped off his other leg. Chop,
plop. The tinsmith made him a new one, tra la la. You know where this is
going, right? You’re smart people. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here!

The arms went next, then the head.

Now, let’s be clear: If I had not chosen to be mute when Nick was first
telling us this story, this is the point where I would have interrupted with:

“Nick, why the fuck didn’t you find another axe?”

Seriously.

How does that proverb go? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice,
shame on me. Fool me over and over again, lose all your limbs.

But Nick kept going. And when his body was split in two by the magic axe
his heart spilled out, and the tinsmith forgot to put it back in when he fixed
him up, so heartless Nick lost all his love for Nimmee Amee and instead
started worrying only about rusting.
 19

Which was silly. Cause tin does not rust. Duh. Iron does. But I didn’t have
the — get ready for it — heart to tell Nick that he obviously wasn’t fully
made of tin if he rusted every time it rained. And rain did Nick no favors.
He’d been stuck for a full year when we found him, poor chap. When he
finally started moving again and asked to tag along, how could we say no?

I couldn’t. Not after he suffered so for l’amour, l’amour, l’amour. It’s not in
the book, and he didn’t much like talking about it, but Nick’s whole body got
chopped to pieces, so you know his penis got sliced off at some point.
Oopsie. How many red-blooded heterosexual men do you know who are
willing to have their cock cut off for the woman they love? Anyone here
want to volunteer? I’m sure I have a knife somewhere in this basket.

In all this phallic tragedy there is a silver lining to match Dorothy’s shoes:
After we heard Nick’s story, Dorothy and I had no reason to feel even a
soupçon of guilt for crash landing our shack down on that mean ole witch
when we landed in Oz. In fact, it was the least we could do. Ding Dong the
Bitch is Dead!

Speaking of byotches, my entourage has grown to four: me, Dorothy,

Strawman and Nick. And you know who comes next? Mais oui, ducky: The
Cowardly Lion.

Or as I called him: Big Pussy. BP for short.

 20

BP knew he was different from all the other lions. He thought that difference
was a lack of courage.

That wasn’t the difference.

Time to spill the tea: BP was a big ho-mo-sexual.

Mmm hmm.

BP was a big fruit. A Manly Alice. An omi-polone. An arse bandit. A pillow-

biter. A chutney ferret. A bum chum. A jobbie jabber. A rump ranger. An
uphill gardener. A major poofter of the first mauve order.

He just didn’t know it yet.

I loved him instantly.

I couldn’t stop myself. I ran up to that big ole hairy beast and barked like
there was no tomorrow to be had, which might have been the case cause
he opened his mouth real big, and it wasn’t to kiss me.

The catamite was gonna eat me.

And not in a good way. Talk about a first date gone wrong.
 21

Dorothy gave BP a slap on the nose, after which he confessed that he

lacked courage.

Which he did. The courage to come out!

Now it might sound like I’m being harsh towards BP, but actually, I was
having such strong feelings because… Well… I was starting to having
questions about moi. For starters, why did BP make me pant so much?
Every time his tail brushed mine it was like being bombarded with a
tsunami of weird nerves and confusion. I wanted to throw up. So I did. A lot.
It didn’t help anything but my waistline.

What also didn’t help is that he joined our merry band to meet the Wizard.
Now I was with BP 24/7. And not only did he seem oblivious to his own call
of the wild, he barely noticed me.

But later on our journey when we all started passing out in a field of deadly
red poppies, I made sure to collapse in such a way that my sweet little nose
was positioned right by his bunghole. (Toto inhales.) Heaven. If it were my
last moment, that’s where I wanted to be.

TOTO rings the bell.

Teachable Moments Tray and Quarter!

 22

I sense that some of you are judging me.

Una, dogs need 12 to 15 hours of sleep every day. It’s how we’re wired.
Yes, I know that’s at least half of every human day, but that’s how we like it.

Dooey, as for my olfactory predilections, dogs sniff butts like humans shake
hands. It’s informative and fun, and a great way to meet new friends.

TOTO rings the bell again.

The poppies weren’t the end for us, but they did provide the best nap I’ve
ever had. And j’adore my siesta fiestas. But after hundreds of field mice
saved us from the deadly poppies — Yes, feckin’ mice! Clearly I was not
consulted — we ended up in Emerald City. I was getting a little depressed
by this point, cause I knew once we saw the Wizard we’d all split up and I’d
never see BP again, but voila! The Wizard was no Sugar Daddy. He wasn’t
just going to give us what we wanted. We had to earn it. His price: Kill the
Wicked Witch of the West.

Now mind you, we hadn’t seen this West Witch yet. In the movie she shows
up at the start and the end and intermittently while we we’re on the road.
Artistic License. But the truth is we didn’t meet her till we sought her out
with the goal of destroying her. No wonder she was so inhospitable!
 23

First she sent wolves to devour us, then crows, then bees. When none of
that worked, she called on the Winged Monkeys.

That did the trick! Those crazy monkeys destroyed Strawman and Nick, put
BP in a cage so they could starve him to death, and made slaves out of me
and Dorothy. Dorothy cried and cried as she swept and mopped the floors,
so I always gave the West Witch a growl when she came near. She didn’t
like that, so she smacked me with her umbrella, after which I gave her a
most deserved bite on the leg.

And get this? Bitch didn’t bleed! She so mean she didn’t have blood.

That Witch kept us around cause she wanted Dorothy’s pretty silver shoes
something awful. And I don’t blame her. But those shoes weren’t hers. And
when the Witch made Dorothy trip and fall and lose one of her shoes,
Dorothy lost her temper and flung her nasty mop water at the Witch.

That was that! The witch melted and we were free. Strawman, Nick and BP
weren’t even with us. We had to go find and save their asses after we did
all the hard work. Typical.

Unlike in the film, we had many more adventures and stories after the West
Witch died. My personal fave was learning the story of a Princess named
Gayelette. Process that: A Princess named Gayelette. No wonder I had my
awakening in Oz.
 24

Unfortunately we don’t have time for all those tales. Not now. Cause far
more interesting is what happened between me and BP.

We went back to the Emerald City and met up with the Wizard, who turned
out to be mostly a sham. To give BP courage, the Wizard just handed him a
special bottle from which to drink. Wasn’t no damn special potion either. It
was tequila. Who doesn’t feel braver after downing some Jose Cuervo?

That liquid courage was all BP needed to confess to me that he was in

love. With Strawman.

I wanted to make the West Witch and melt into the ground. But I couldn’t.

To make matters worse, a big hot-air balloon was being set up to take me,
Dorothy and the Wizard back to Kansas. Grey, dull Kansas with no color,
no fun, no BP.

I couldn’t stand it. I jumped out of Dorothy’s arms and made a run for it.

Some dickwit caught me and handed me back to her. But I still had hope,
cause the balloon had left without us. Hurrah! Then Glinda the Good Witch
finally made an appearance and told Dorothy she could click her shoes
three times and magically return to Kansas.
 25

Which she did. With me in tow.

The strangest thing happened though. When I got back to Kansas and Aunt
Em and Uncle Henry, things weren’t the same. Sure, gray Kansas still
sucked major arse, but I was different. Changed. Oz helped me discover
and start my own personal quest, one that I continued back in Kansas. And
once Dorothy grew up and didn’t need me anymore, I set out on my own.

For a century I’ve explored the world and myself. I eventually recovered
from my unrequited l’amour, l’amour, l’amour with BP and have had lots of
wonderful relationships, some of which even lasted more than an hour.

But dating has gotten trickier in the past few years, don’t you think? I’ve
noticed it’s the ones who are afraid to explore who want to put labels on
me. Am I gay? A drag-queen canine? A gender-bending mutt? And what
kind of terrier am I?

Sweet Sassy Molassy! I almost forgot the results of my DNA test.

Toto pulls out the envelope, opens it and

reads the results aloud.

Scottish Terrier, Yorkshire Terrier, Cairn Terrier, blah blah blah.

But wait. (Toto gasps.) My orbs deceive moi!

 26

Chihuahua?! Bienvenida, Mexico.

Chow Chow?! Ni hao, China.

Dalmation!!! Those moody bitches come from Croatia.

My Scottish ancestors were world-traveling sluts. Slutty mutts! But now it all
makes sense. It’s in my genes to venture out and explore. And I got further
than any of them. I got to Oz.

And so can you. Next time you see a tornado, run towards it as fast as you
can. Might seem scary at first, but the adventure is fantabulosa!

END OF PLAY


 27

GLOSSARY OF POLARI EXPRESSIONS

(listed in order of usage)

Word/Expression Meaning
Bona to vada your dolly old eeks! How lovely to see all your pretty faces!
Mais oui, Ducky Oh yes
Billingsgate Bad language
And no flies Honestly
Lally-pegs Legs
Titivate To make pretty
Fantabulosa Wonderful

POLARI NUMBERS LIST

1 — una 7 — say oney

2 — dooey 8 — say dooey
3 — tray 9 — say tray
4 — quarter 10 — daiture, dacha
5 — chinker 11 — long dedger, lepta
6 — say 12 — kenza