From: aaron@space.ualberta.ca (Aaron Humphrey)
Subject: Through His Loins
Reply-To: aaron@space.ualberta.ca
Organization: University Of Alberta, Edmonton Canada
X-Newsreader: Tin 1.1 PL4
Date: Wed, 19 Aug 1992 22:10:25 GMT

[For Ron "5150" Etxeberri, who gave me

breeches echelon lechery recherche

and who can now stop pestering me about his story.]


I really hate it when those low-echelon types come after you.  I mean, they all
see us high-enders and they say, if I can just get an in with them...  Don't
get me wrong--it's not like I haven't indulged myself with a few of the
low-echelon women once in a while.  Some of them are quite cute, and they're
not as dangerous as the higher-ups.  I mean, their testimony isn't going to be
worth much in court, right?

For real intellectual equality, you have to go for the high-echelon women.
I've never been fond of them, myself--they're too bossy, and some of them are
such teases.  And if you jilt them, it costs you big.  But what really gets to
me is when the lower-class babes think they have any kind of a chance with you.
Give me a break.

I was in the library one day, just reading some Proust.  You know, A La
Recherche Du Temps Perdu, and all that.  I didn't like it as much as some of
the other stuff they'd put me on, but better than that Thoreau guy, anyway.
And this low-echelon chick comes up to me and starts talking to me.

"I like Proust, myself," she says, just out of nowhere.  I look at her.  Not
bad--nice hooters, at least, even if the face needs some work.  And wearing
glasses--yuk.  I can't see her legs over the edge of the table, so I lean
forward a bit--and she's wearing pants, right?  Not even a skirt, or shorts, or
anything.

So right away I know that this is the wrong kind of girl.  She thinks she can
get to you by appealing to your brain.  She hasn't yet learned that any guy who
wants a woman with brains can get one higher-up, and anyone else isn't gonna
look at her twice.

"Really," I say, in my most off-putting tone.

She nods, or so I presume, since I've turned back to the book.  "Remembrances
of Things Past, right?"  Well, right there I know she doesn't even measure up
on the intellect scale.  I mean, she read it in English?  That's like reading
Thoreau in French, or Plato in Swahili.  Real useful.

So I let her have it.  "Non, non, c'est La Recherche Du Temps Perdu."  And I
proceed to let her have it, both barrels, all the criticism on it I can dredge
up, in French.  I can see her face fall and her body slump in defeat.  But I
don't stop.  And she doesn't move.  She just stands there and takes it.

Finally I take pity on her.  "Look--if you want to talk about Proust in
English, I'm not the guy you should be looking for."  I scribble down a name
and call-address on a sheet of paper.  "This guy, Mitsuko, is much more your
style.  What's your name?"

"Carlene."

"Great.  I'll call him and tell him about you.  He'll be thrilled."  Mitsuko is
a real bastard, see.  He gets a morbid satisfaction about these low-echelon
chicks, making them think they have a chance intellectually and then pounding
them into dust.  His suicide rate is two for three.  For some reason, though,
they all seem to come to me first, and I have to send them on to him.

Now I'm horny, though.  She did have nice hooters.  So I put the books back on
the shelf and go down to the street for some real action.


<Hoping it's not A La Recherche DES Temps Perdu...>

--
---Alfvaen(a.k.a. Nysinra, rot13 Psycho)
"So you found a girl who thinks really deep thoughts
 what's so amazing about really deep thoughts"  -- Tori Amos
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Current Read--Henry David Thoreau:Walden and Other Writings
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