Disposable blog III

 Courtesans vs Helen Reddy

(This needs more nouns, I've just decided.
OK fine, "Peaches")

She liked older men, hair on their stomachs, executive types.
Or that was her ideal. She'd met males (not actually "Men")
who preached 

and if she had a resentment, it would be those, scrawny types full of hubris.

1970's archetypical

No, she liked (I keep having to google stuff, this entry won't go far)

Executive self-confident

The executives, well stocked tummies, who didn't have to *act* important, they already were.
Beee cause....

Hungry types anxious for their place in the world, were a real turn off, especially the way they preached at parties.

She'd accidentally (it's in another blog) inherited $500,000 (or so) and used most of it to buy a mini-mansion with a gigantic pool that no one really used, to lie on deck-chairs next to their beloved du jour.
Being 1968 (I like 1968) It wasn't a biggie for her to hang around the house not doing much.
("yeahbut get to the sex already")
An executive's daughter, eager to find her place in the world, was an occasional visitor. Once in a fit of horniness or whatever, she held the young woman's face and kissed her, or tried to.
Slapping her away, the woman said,
"Don't touch me!"
......"You can kiss me, but don't touch"
And this was desirable, Them touching wet lips.
So ever after, they like each other, Peaches and the preaching young woman with a very high voice.

"Dad" and his expansive tummy, and his daughter Mia, all preachy with glasses, who had a budding sense of her own magnetism (People liked to watch her lips move)
It became a thing, kissing on the lips in front of strangers at parties, although that's as far as it ever got, and Peaches enjoyed the deception, the hungry men being all jealous and saying snarky remarks.
She enjoyed being around the self confident,
but despised posers (Poseurs)

Bah, humbug (TBA)

My train derailed three times, my PC died, this train is history unless something comes to fix it)

I don't understand that sentence.
We exist as individuals (as a group as a nation, what's your point?)
"Why are we here?"
is said at parties a lot.
I hate parties.

 constant process of becoming...what?

Couldn't you have been less opaque and just said "evolving" ?

Fat housewives with psychology degrees and huge bottoms know this stuff, and where did it get them.
OK so they live in the hills with an insurance salesman but, still.
Be smart, talk smart (sell real estate eventually)

If we learn Kierkegaard and Proust (and Kafka for extra credit)
Will we get a seaside house?

"Be grateful for what you have" FU,AH (or is it FURIO)

We are meaningless, why are we here  (GTH)
But chicks dig the words

Google pretends to be obtuse, but think of the bearded genius-geeks working there who, when asked "Life sucks and then you die, 'kafka' ," sort of ignore me and put this forward

Maybe there's a method to their madness.

There's a method to mine: epitomizing Kafka into a very few pithy words, does the above sentence ring true?

Or is it swaddled in history-of-the-world stuff so dense that (I lost the rest of this sentence)

If I'd actually *read* anything I'd know Kierkegaard is the proselytizing (aka preachy) Life of the party preaching the importance of being,

and kafka is off in the corner saying "Bah (Humbug)"

Proust sounds like a sycophantic friend of Kierkegaard, we must strive to be

(until we're married, have the 401K and vote republican)

eh, ?? (Grief fades) (Oh. Well why didn't he just say that?)

Peaches (sticking to my fiction) enjoys the oral intercourse but doesn't pay it much mind. (Reword this sentence)

Cunning Linguists can be boring (?)

------

Todd du Terde was one of those boring people, insinuating himself into parties, his french accent and ugly polyester brown suit were decorations.

"Who are you, really? What do you do?"

Peaches was a very polite person, and she realized that the man fancied himself as a vault of gossip, so she chose her words carefully. She evaded, referring to the current conversations about living for the moment.

("Are you a 'whore'? A 'kept woman'?")

Peaches could blush on command but this outré little pissant was making her blush with embarrassment and anger.

"I am what I am...(Like Popeye)"

"Suck this" The man commanded, grabbing her head.

She struggled, people noticed, and the man was disgraced (yay), but the rest of the party didn't go well, everyone looking so sympathetic.

"Filthy men and their self-righteous wives," A woman tossed off, as if to be comforting, but her air of disdain cancelled any comfort offered.

So Peaches had a moment of existential crisis, why was she entertaining these people, none of whom she liked much?

Friends of friends and their spouses.

She went into the bedroom to take a nap, hoping that when she awoke, everyone would have left.

"Let them steal stuff," she thought angrily.