LIFE SUCKS AND BLOWS

I may have mentioned previously that Savage Kitten loves bad movies, yes?
In particular, I spoke of her fondness for Valley of The Dolls.

If you do not remember my writing that, read this:
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2008/08/singing-repulsive-art.html

It predates my two lengthy posts about the Balkan Sobranie mixture on August 6th and 7th ..... Which you might want to reread also, because Balkan Sobranie pipe tobacco was the absolute culmination of Western Civilization, as I'm sure you know.

Anyhow, Savage Kitten has a thing for bad movies. If she were gay and male, we would call it a taste for camp...... As it is, however, it is an inexplicable obsession.

I do not quite grasp obsessions, and I rather distrust them. They are foreign to me, I do not have any obsessions.

[Did you reread my Balkan Sobranie posts yet? You should. Trust me.]


This past Saturday afternoon I came home from whatever it is that goyishe Zionists do on Saturday to find her happily crooning the theme to Valley Of The Dolls. While sitting in front of the television. Watching the movie. Of which she has a brand-new copy on compact disc. It is digitally re-masterd ghastly, oh joy.

[And, pursuant the Balkan Sobranie mixture and other Balkan blends, you might like the Presbyterian Mixture - the tin aroma is richly Ottoman, there is a hint of Fire-Cured Kentucky, and a plentifullness of aged Virginia, in addition to what I estimate as being around thirty percent Turkish, supplemented by a soupcon of Latakia. Velvety, perfumy, and incense like. It's very old-fashioned.]


After dinner she put Valley Of the Dolls on again. I woke up Sunday morning to Valley Of The Dolls. I returned from an afternoon engagement, to find her watching it one more time. Obsessions are rather like venereal diseases, they flare up at the most upsetting times.

[You might need to air it out a bit first, it's packed very moist. Which will have affected how the tobaccos have interplayed and melded. ]

This time she was speaking all the lines before the characters on screen did so. I am afraid that she has memorized Valley Of The Dolls. Soon every conversation will be larded with doll-ese.

[Unlike with the Balkan Sobranie mixture, the smokiness of Presbyterian is not a Syrian or even Cyprian type, but more like candied peat with a hint of burning tire.]


She wasn't playing it this morning when I woke up. But she didn't need to - I could hear the blasted lyrics of "I'll Plant My Own Tree" in my head. Her hideous obsession with Valley Of The Dolls now haunts my dreams.

[The Fire-Cured Kentucky is what gives the tin-aroma of Presbyterian that confusing nasal hue - a hint of chocolate, a hint of burning compost. Or perhaps a heather element. This is not similar to Balkan Sobranie.]


I have a nasty suspicion that this evening, when I return, I will find her watching Valley Of The Dolls again. Nasty suspicion? Heck, I know I will. It is awful.

[The smell of the Kentucky with the aged Virginia confuses many smokers; it gives the blend a depth that Virginia alone could not. It is very similar in that way to the Arcadia, and to Constantinople - both of which have been unavailable for two decades. Though also much missed, neither has been nearly as lamented and be-rhapsodized as the Balkan Sobranie. Perhaps unjustly. Presbyterian at least keeps part of the tradition alive. Go ahead and buy some.]


Obsessions are evil.

[Try it. You'll be glad you did.]