Friday, October 8, 2010

When It Rains, It Pours

Dearest Readers,

Allow me to apologize for the prolonged lapse in our correspondence. The end of the summer is always a difficult and exhausting time for Alisdair and me. As the weather turns, our considerable passions compel us to devote la plupart of our energies to chasing around the last sweet bits of sun-kissed flesh that will soon be forced into hiding and hibernation by the arrival of the icy Mistrals. While I would never wish this onerous responsibility on anyone, I do realize that the purpose of this log is to equip our readers with the intelligence necessary to attempt such a quest for carnal delights so, without further ado :

1. Would a Rose by any other name smell as sweet? Regardless of your answer to this question, consider Rose's first. Several months ago I wrote about an occasion when I, in a drunken haze, called out a wrong name in the boudoir. Needless to say, I was ejected from the premises immediately. When juggling several simultaneous affairs, the importance of memorizing names with faces (and bodies) cannot be over-stressed. For this purpose, I carry around a neat stack of flashcards in my portefeuille and take time to jog my memory between luncheon with Leslie (tall, blonde, thin) and supper with Suzette (tall, blonde, thin*) .

2. We have made mention of the fact that the Rake, vain as he is, spends an inordinate amount of time working on his appearance, taking sometimes up to 4 hours in front of the mirror - even before dressing. There is nothing wrong with this, I merely mention it because despite all the steps he takes to insure his personal beauty, one thing he never applies is perfume. His animal musk suffices to set women aquiver . However, one needn't be William of Baskerville to deduce that rigorous physical contact with a female will leave a scent of Jicky or Narcisse Noir upon your shirt, tie, and/or coat, as well as your delicate skin. Instead of deterring the scent, we must mask it. Smoke constantly, exhaling all over yourself when possible. Take large hearty swigs of whatever you are drinking and let the alcohol run down your chin and neck and soak into your collar. Lay in the gutter - sleep there if necessary - and let the delightful fragrances that characterize a neighborhood permeate your clothing. In no time, you should be smelling like yourself again, free from any suggestion of feminine contact. This step should pose no difficulties to our die-hard readers.

3. In some cases, the smell of another woman's sex on you can incite the passions of the more wanton of women with whom you will rendezvous later in the day. This is what John Maynard Keynes referred to as 'priming the pump.' But, just like government intervention in markets, it doesn't always work. Therefore, you would be wise to carry around a few moistened toilettes in order to wash up between interviews. These are typically complimentary and can be found at what is known as a "Barbecue" restaurant.

4. Sexually transmitted disease has been the bane of our existence from time immemorial. Due to some bogus legislation, it is apparently illegal to copulate if you are aware you are infected with the clap, Chattanooga vertigo, Persian Flu, etc. Simple solution: Do not get tested! Ignorance is bliss, as they say. Besides, who has the time to visit a free clinic these days. If you are symptomatic, take a page out of my book and carry around a small phial of mercury for topical touch-ups, Of course, admission of this reeks of "prosecutorial evidence" so mum is the word.

This lesson could fill several volumes, but as I have some scrubbing to attend to, I shall leave you with these 4 tips. If in doubt, do not hesitate to write us. (

*You can see the potential for confusion.