A Wicked Renaissance Wench, Part 3
In proof of which, Mrs. Nocutingles told her husband several things that made him chuckle. By the third day Mrs. Nocutingles' plan had taken recognizable form. Then it was that she composed a letter. On the envelope she wrote: "Sir Stykurtongupmeyahs Ubonerbaton, Pekerpallus Conservatory, Greece."
"Dear Styk," the letter began. She had once been violently loved by him for three weeks in her pre-marital days. But she had coveted herself to Jack Nocutingles, who had prior claims, and her heart as well; and Stykurtongupmeyahs Ubonerbaton had philosophically not broken his heart over it. He merely added the experience to a large fund of similarly collected data out of which he manufactured philosophy.
Artistically and temperamentally he was Greek - a tired Greek, as if his rectum was victim of 1000 gang bangs. He was fond of quoting from Nietzsche, in token that he, too, had passed through the long sickness that follows upon the ardent search for truth; that he too had emerged too experienced, too shrewd, too profound, ever again to be afflicted by the madness of youths in their love of truth. "'To worship appearance,'" he often quoted; "'to believe in forms, in tones, in words, in the whole Olympus of pussy!' "This particular excerpt he always concluded with, " 'Those Greeks were superficial - out of profanity!'"
He was a fairly young Greek, jaded and worn. Whores were faithless and un veracious, he held - at such times that he had relapses and descended to pessimism from his wonted high philosophical calm. He did not believe in the truth of Whores; but, faithful to his Roman master, he did not strip from them the airy gauzes that veiled their untruth. He was content to accept them as appearances and to make the best of it. He was superficial - out of profundity, so he was prowling for the casual lay. (Go to Part 4 of a Wicked Renaissance Wench)
