Wednesday, July 27, 2011


Several years ago friend of blog e-kvetcher remarked: "Dude, you are well on your way to becoming the next Henry Darger".
Seeing as he's also on occasion compared me to Marcel Proust, other than feeling mildly flattered I paid it no mind.
Well, besides writing a paean to mr. Darger - how can one NOT admire and respect so magnificently sleazy an obsession?

Henry Darger, it will be remembered, wrote a fifteen thousand page novella about pubescent warrioresses and their very nicely illustrated travails.
It took him several decades to do so.

I am envious of a man with so little Attention Deficit Disorder.

Anyhow, I am reminded of all this because some of the bartenders I know are experimenting with fruity cocktails. Drinks containing pineapple juice, cranberry, apple, peach, various puckers, and assorted sickly matters.
I fear that it's only a matter of time before dry ice and paper parasols are involved.
At which point, they will be catering to the girlie crowd.

Heaven forefend.

The girlie crowd are not adult people.

They have pubescent taste.

The sweet cocktails for which I once posted recipes are, of course, not strictly speaking fit for anyone.
Though I will confess a degenerate fondness for grasshoppers, white cotton panties, and the rare pear martini.

[Note: grasshoppers and white cotton panties are described HERE. Properly there should be a cherry in the panties, but that is argueably optional as far as the grasshopper is concerned. For better effect you can add one ounce of heavy cream to the panty.
Remember the cherry - white cotton panties ALWAYS require a cherry.]

Adults, of whatever gender, do NOT drink fruity-poof drinkies unless they are willingly being seduced.
Real people drink Scotch, Irish, unflavoured vodka, or Cognac.
Bourbon is for trailer parkers, tequila is for marketing types, and gin is for the office alcoholic.
Flavoured coffees and teas, as well as perfumed pipe tobacco, are sure signs of degeneracy, depravity, decadence, and immaturity. Such impure tastes speak volumes about the effete post-adolescent riff-raff that prefer them.
Likely they have strange sexual predilections and unhealthy fetishes.

For instance: bestiality, whips, and teenagers.

Liquor, tobacco, coffee, and tea of good quality do not require additions. And as often whatever is added reeks of whorehouse or Hello Kitty, such augmentation speaks volumes about the people that prefer such.

In the main, I eschew morally questionable tastes.

I will, however, grudgingly admit a strong preference for Orientals.

[Samsoun, Smyrna, Soukoum, and the fabled Yenidje. Plus Djubeck. Toutoun, whether Djebel or Yaka, and even Shiraz. Latakia, though nowadays from Cyprus and thus 'European', was originally from Syria, and qualifies fully as an Oriental by inheritance even in its modern incarnation, being of Oriental seed and process.
And speaking of which, I keenly miss the fine Egyptian ovals produced by Kyriazi Frères, now no longer available in California. Khedive Oriental cigarettes (from Germany) were also divine. To recapture that delicious resinous perfume, you may want to try Dunhill Durbar Mixture in your pipe, or alternatively, Presbyterian Mixture, originally from William Solomon, but now manufactured in Germany. Both products are resinously rich in Oriental leaf.
The Balkan Sobranie Mixture, of course, doesn't exist anymore, lack-a-day.]


The one field where all the myriad flavourings actually serve a purpose is perfume.
Nothing is more alluring than a woman whiffing gently of sandalum and vetiver, neroli, labdanum, agarwood, bergamot, opopanac, or 晚香玉.
Your subtle feminine fragrance is vastly enhanced by the judicious addition of a carefully chosen scent. Far better than spending enormous amounts on eye-shadow, foundation, cheek blush, wrinkle creams, and such like, you should instead invest in one or two bottles of choice aromatic.

Such things are suitable, in fact, for any woman between seven and seventy.
From schoolgirls to soured old harridans.
It's infinitely flattering!

Just avoid patchouli, vanilla, and coconut!

Grown men have been known to turn violently sideways and dab-smack into concrete to get away from that sh*t.

We are not perverts, but purists.

Please in all things remember that.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


e-kvetcher said...

Wow, that's a reference to a really old post...

What a blast from the past...

Little Paper Parasols said...

Wait, wait, ALL fruity cocktails NEED a Hello Kitty swizzle stick!

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