Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Yet another study
Reveals profound truths:
the simple act of talking triggers a flood of brain chemicals which give women a rush similar to that felt by heroin addicts when they get a high.
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Nurse Duckett found Yossarian wonderful and was already trying to change him. She loved to watch him taking short naps with his face down and his arm thrown across her, or staring bleakly at the endless tame, quiet waves breaking like pet puppy dogs against the shore, scampering lightly up the sand a foot or two and then trotting away. She was calm in his silences. She knew she did not bore him, and she buffed or painted her fingernails studiously while he dozed or brooded and the desultory warm afternoon breeze vibrated delicately on the surface of the beach. She loved to look at his wide, long, sinewy back with its bronzed, unblemished skin. She loved to bring him to flame instantly by taking his whole ear in her mouth suddenly and running her hand down his front all the way. She loved to make him burn and suffer till dark, then satisfy him. Then kiss him adoringly because she had brought him such bliss.
Yossarian was never lonely with Nurse Duckett, who really did know how to keep her mouth shut and was just capricious enough.
Aaahhh. ou sont les neiges d'antan? Alas, such nurses exist no more.
That on purpose, AI? The corporal played it dumb. 'What?' he asked.
'Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?'
'I'm afraid I don't understand.'
'Où sont les Neigedens d'antan?' Yossarian said to make it easier for him.
'Parlez en anglais, for Christ's sake,' said the corporal. 'Je ne parle pas français.'
That's good, JJ -- I had no recollection that that was in there. I can't believe you'd remember that, either. Is your memory that good?
For nonsense, yes. I also remember Künneth, as in "What's the frequency...?"
I thought the question there was, "What's the product?"
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