"I'll show you a trick", said the sagacious old boulevardier to his grandson, "that any man-about-town ought to know: instead of tapping out your message on a machine, you scribble it onto a card, put a pretty stamp on it, look for one of these big blue boxes, slip it into this aperture, here, and wait three days for the magic of 'snail mail' to do its work -- do you understand?"
Ah, Tomàs--percipient enough to know that symmetry is the secret of a great massage, and duly equipped with strong, ambidextrous hands -- his splenetic attitude towards clients who stiff him on his tip is offset, thank God, by a touch of prosopagnosia, preventing him from recognizing me whenever I show up at his cabaña!
First you bid me enter upon your land and then jape at me when I stumble into this blasted ditch: the provenience of your ha-ha, sir, is neither a noble spirit nor a magnanimous heart.
Finding me, on his by now daily visit, in no more dire predicament than that of a case of sore muscles consequent to the grain bin incident, my deus ex machina decided to whisk me over the seas to the thermal springs of Iceland for a lesson in balneology, for which I surely must have impawned my high school ring had I been obliged to pay my own air fare.
After exhorting his buddies to watch how he was going to "fuck" me "up", my would-be assailant mounted such a gaumless execution as obviated the need for a deus ex machina to swoop in and pluck me out of danger: he dropped his knife twice and then failed to open the blade, and as I sauntered away I could hear him eating crow to whoops of laughter.
"Yessir even after they dragged me out o' the grain bin I figgered I was a goner, and them rescue folks was in a real swivet," recounted Elmer, "'cause everthin' from my ears to my windpipes was caked up with that fuliginous corn dust till I was a-turnin' blue, and jis' then that there new farm hand pops up like a reg'lar deus ex machina and hollers 'Hang on, I got me an advanced degree in otorhinolaryngology!!!'"
Lord Fleicester put on an impressive and laudable show of lacrimae rerum during his interview on the BBC, bemoaning the crushing burden of social responsibility that falls upon one of blue blood, before hastening back to his pharaonic palace in his Bentley.
As I broke through the door of that basement apartment in the seediest tranche of Little Korea I feared the worst but still was unprepared for what greeted me -- the whir of wooden blades rotating overhead, the concentrated stench of a potpourri of wilted chrysanthemums, roses and peonies strewn about the floor, and then the corpse itself, neck arched, lips curled back in a hideous flehmen that exposed yellow teeth and a black tongue -- the city's fifth ritual fan death in as many weeks.
"Oh, sure", hissed the courtesan as the priest wrested his arm out of her grasp, "leave me shivering in this cold bed so you can stoke the bishop's fireplace, obedient running dog that you are, and while you're at it, why not really impress him by throwing yourself in and immolating yourself, since self-sacrifice seems to be the hallmark of your faith?"
Listening to the winter wind howl around (and through!) the old manse, and calculating that the psychological moment had arrived for the fulfillment of his nascent desires, Cuthbert asked his elderly governess if she would care to join him in his bath, but she returned a marmoreal stare, and after a long silence whispered, "In a pig's eye."
Drowsy from the heat of the Valencian afternoon, and lulled by the canorous tones of her husband's voice as he led the faithful in their davening downstairs, the rabbi's wife was free to develop her fantasies in the impregnable solitude of her siesta.
Whilkers responded to the announcement of his preterition under the impregnable terms of his father's will with the riposte, "Brother dear, if this was Daddy's way of punishing me for my little escapade with your wife, it was worth it."
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