Well, it's the pelvic thru-u-ust that really drives you insa-a-a-a-ane.
But it would never work, unfortunately. Putting aside the fact that mustard is clearly the superior condiment anyhow, I think the only way I'm going to be called worldly is if my gravitational pull ends up pulling a large moon into my orbit. This is where of course a mean person would suggest that I'm currently sitting on such a large moon, but my backside is hardly astronomical in scale.