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Another Absinthe Party a Big Hit! (No...

Sepulchritude Forum » The Absinthe Forum » Strictly Absinthe & Collectibles » Another Absinthe Party a Big Hit! (No, Really ....) « Previous Next »

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Jay & The Imp (Thegreenimp)
Absinthe Mafia
Username: Thegreenimp

Post Number: 364
Registered: 7-2001


Posted on Thursday, August 21, 2003 - 12:33 pm:   Edit PostPrint Post

It may in the nature of literature to disapoint, but the author is expected to produce under any & all circumstances, until bled dry like a transparent husk, to meet the needs of an ever greater consuming public.

I've wrestled with reality for 35 years, and I'm happy to state I've finally won out over it........Elwood. P. Dowd
Pataphysician (Pataphysician)
Elitist Bastard
Username: Pataphysician

Post Number: 663
Registered: 5-2001
Posted on Thursday, August 21, 2003 - 12:18 pm:   Edit PostPrint Post

I am sorry. It is the nature of Literature to disappoint.
Jay & The Imp (Thegreenimp)
Absinthe Mafia
Username: Thegreenimp

Post Number: 363
Registered: 7-2001


Posted on Thursday, August 21, 2003 - 12:00 pm:   Edit PostPrint Post

Now I'm disapointed, you should have used the Dallas TV series Patrick Duffy, it was all a dream gambit, with requisite shower scene.
I've wrestled with reality for 35 years, and I'm happy to state I've finally won out over it........Elwood. P. Dowd
Pataphysician (Pataphysician)
Elitist Bastard
Username: Pataphysician

Post Number: 662
Registered: 5-2001
Posted on Thursday, August 21, 2003 - 11:57 am:   Edit PostPrint Post

OK:

And then I woke up and realized it was all a dream. I'll never drink Absinthe before bedtime again!
Jay & The Imp (Thegreenimp)
Absinthe Mafia
Username: Thegreenimp

Post Number: 362
Registered: 7-2001


Posted on Thursday, August 21, 2003 - 11:49 am:   Edit PostPrint Post

Please continue........"Sweating in anticipation, like rancid pork".
I've wrestled with reality for 35 years, and I'm happy to state I've finally won out over it........Elwood. P. Dowd
Pataphysician (Pataphysician)
Elitist Bastard
Username: Pataphysician

Post Number: 661
Registered: 5-2001
Posted on Thursday, August 21, 2003 - 11:18 am:   Edit PostPrint Post

...and live.
Jay & The Imp (Thegreenimp)
Absinthe Mafia
Username: Thegreenimp

Post Number: 361
Registered: 7-2001


Posted on Thursday, August 21, 2003 - 10:56 am:   Edit PostPrint Post

It isn't often that one gets to see a genuine Bulldadist in action.
I've wrestled with reality for 35 years, and I'm happy to state I've finally won out over it........Elwood. P. Dowd
Barsnake (Barsnake)
le Duc
Username: Barsnake

Post Number: 200
Registered: 4-2002


Posted on Thursday, August 21, 2003 - 10:52 am:   Edit PostPrint Post

holy cripes, use a
and the beat goes on...
Marc Chevalier (Chevalier)
Absinthe Mafia
Username: Chevalier

Post Number: 1416
Registered: 11-2001


Posted on Thursday, August 21, 2003 - 10:49 am:   Edit PostPrint Post

Mr. Pataphysician:

If you do not desist sending PINTHOUSE FORUM these letters of yours, we will have no choice but to take legal action.

Thousands of our readers have jammed the PINTHOUSE phone lines, begging us to "stop the inanity".


Blanche Lafée
Assistant Editor, PINTHOUSE FORUM








Pataphysician (Pataphysician)
Elitist Bastard
Username: Pataphysician

Post Number: 660
Registered: 5-2001
Posted on Thursday, August 21, 2003 - 8:59 am:   Edit PostPrint Post

By now he was taken with the desire to explore the reason why water is set going and flowing and touch every nook of her body by such a slight push is, of course, the smallness of its atoms. He parted the opening of her sex with his two fingers and their readiness to roll. He feasted his eyes on the glowing skin, the delicate flow of honey, the hair curling around his fingers, the stickier consistency of honey - its relatively sluggish flow and dilatory progress is due to. His mouth grew more and more avid as if it had become a sex organ in itself, the closer coherence of the component matter consisting, as it obviously does. Capable of so enjoying her that if he continued to fondle her flesh with his tongue he would reach some absolutely unknown pleasure of particles not so smooth or so fine or so round. As he bit into her flesh with such a delicious sensation, he felt again in her a quiver of pleasure, a high pile of poppy seed can be disturbed by a light puff of breeze, so that it trickles down from the top. Now he forced her away from his sex, for fear she might experience all her pleasures merely kissing him, whereas a heap of stones or corn ears remains immovable, and that he would be cheated of feeling himself inside of her womb in proportion as objects are smaller and smoother, so much the more do they enjoy mobility. It was as if they both had become ravenously the greater their weight and roughness, the more firmly are they anchored. Hungry for the taste of flesh since, therefore, the substance of the mind has been found to be extraordinarily mobile. And now their two mouths melted into each other, it must consist of particles exceptionally small and smooth and round seeking the leaping tongues.
Marc Chevalier (Chevalier)
Absinthe Mafia
Username: Chevalier

Post Number: 1415
Registered: 11-2001


Posted on Thursday, August 21, 2003 - 8:44 am:   Edit PostPrint Post

Dear Mr. Pataphysician,

PINTHOUSE FORUM regrets to inform you that it cannot publish your submission. Frankly, we deem it too lascivious for our readers to stomach.

The editors invite you to submit letters that do not refer to "the udders of fleecy ewes".

Sincerely,

Blanche Lafée
Assistant Editor, PINTHOUSE FORUM




Pataphysician (Pataphysician)
Elitist Bastard
Username: Pataphysician

Post Number: 659
Registered: 5-2001
Posted on Thursday, August 21, 2003 - 8:30 am:   Edit PostPrint Post

Slowly the day began to die behind the sugar-loaf, and at last the girl pointed ahead through the bushes and he could see a long spit of sand running out into the lake. Otherwise it would naturally happen that corn, when it is crushed by the dire force of the grindstone, would often show some sign of blood, and that blood would exude when we crush between stones any of those things that derive material from our bodies. There were thick bushes of sea-grape along its spine and, halfway, perhaps a hundred yards from the shore, the remains of a thatched hut. Similarly, grass and water ought often to emit sweet drops of the same flavour as the milk in the udders of fleecy ewes. It looked a reasonably attractive place to spend the night and it was well protected by the water on both sides. When clods of soil are crumbled, finely divided particles of different plants and grains and leaves ought to become visible, lurking among the soil. The wind had died and the water was soft and inviting. When sticks are snapped, ashes and smoke ought to be revealed, and tiny hidden fires. How heavenly it was going to be to take off their filthy shirts and wash in the lake, and, after the hours of squelching through the mud and stench of the river and the marsh, be able to lie down on the hard dry sand! But observation plainly shows that none of these things happens. The sun blazed yellowly and sank behind the mountain. It is clear therefore that one sort of thing is not intermingled with another in this way, but there must be in things a mixture of invisible seeds that are common to many sorts. The day was still alive at the eastern tip of the island, but the black shadow of the sugar-loaf was slowly marching across the lake and would soon reach out and kill that too. “But,” you may object, “it often happens in mountainous country that nearby tops of tall trees are rubbed together by the force of a gale till suddenly they blossom out into a blaze of flame.” The frogs started up, louder than in Jamaica, until the thick dusk was shrill with them. Agreed. Across the lake a giant bull frog began to drum. And yet there is no fire embedded in the wood. The eerie sound was something between a tom-tom and an ape’s roar. What it does contain is a multitude of seeds of heat, which start a conflagration in the forest only when they have been concentrated by rubbing. It sent out short messages that were suddenly throttled. If there were ready-made flame concealed in the wood, the fires could not be hidden for any length of time; they would spread havoc through the woodland and burn the trees to ashes. Soon it fell silent. Now do you see the point of my previous remark, that it makes a great difference in what combinations and positions the same elements occur and what motions they mutually pass on and take over, so that with a little reshuffling the same ones may produce forests and fires? It had found what it had sent for. This is just how the words themselves are formed, by a little reshuffling of the letters, when we pronounce “forests” and “fires” as two distinct utterances.
The Levitating Grin Salesman (Rimbaud)
le Duc
Username: Rimbaud

Post Number: 282
Registered: 12-2001


Posted on Thursday, August 21, 2003 - 7:23 am:   Edit PostPrint Post

????????????
"Please pardon our appearance while we are levitating..."
Pataphysician (Pataphysician)
Elitist Bastard
Username: Pataphysician

Post Number: 658
Registered: 5-2001
Posted on Thursday, August 21, 2003 - 7:12 am:   Edit PostPrint Post

She objected to marrying her half a dozen dahabeeyahs, row on row of either their mental or their procreative propellers sounding in the distance were scarcely on speaking terms. It was that of their own boatboy, the increasing attentions paid by Prince Salah Nassif to a serious rival. He took the Boswell's launch, low and swift in the water. That line of lights lay the Lotus, turning to sleep had come alive.
Crochety Old Bastard (Artemis)
Absinthe Mafia
Username: Artemis

Post Number: 894
Registered: 10-2000


Posted on Wednesday, August 20, 2003 - 4:20 pm:   Edit PostPrint Post

"And were the millionaires guilty too?"

My friend is in fact a millionaire, and he's guilty as hell. Once he entered a roadhouse to find it strangely empty of people. No customers and no bartender. In other words, a roadhouse in the Twilight Zone. But there was beer in the cooler, real cold beer. But not for long. My friend filled the back seat of his car with it and then sought his entertainment elsewhere. Also, once he woke up to find a motorcycle in his front yard, and he couldn't remember where, or even why, he stole it. Those were the days before he became a millionaire, but after the evil influence of the 43-years-ago absinthe.

As for myself, I am sadly rich only in the number of things I can afford to leave alone. Is that a bottle of Spanish absinthe between your legs, or were you just happy to see me?
"He is an unapologetic, crochety old bastard who will peddle any fibs that will make him a buck, or put him on a pedestal."
Jack Collins (_blackjack_)
Absinthe Mafia
Username: _blackjack_

Post Number: 1190
Registered: 11-2000


Posted on Wednesday, August 20, 2003 - 4:04 pm:   Edit PostPrint Post

Or was it a green-haired, big titted 13-year-old spanish babe...?
Marc Chevalier (Chevalier)
Absinthe Mafia
Username: Chevalier

Post Number: 1414
Registered: 11-2001


Posted on Wednesday, August 20, 2003 - 2:01 pm:   Edit PostPrint Post

Dear Pinthouse Forum:

Over the years, I've read the letters of your readers telling about their "big hit absinthe parties". Little did I know that it would happen to me!

One boring weeknight, I was studying alone in my dorm room when I heard a knock. I opened the door, and there standing before me was a big-titted, green-haired babe with a bottle of 13-year old Spanish absinthe between her legs ...


Marc Chevalier (Chevalier)
Absinthe Mafia
Username: Chevalier

Post Number: 1413
Registered: 11-2001


Posted on Wednesday, August 20, 2003 - 1:53 pm:   Edit PostPrint Post

Wow! What an imaginarically true story! And were the millionaires guilty too? Of striking with open covers, I should think. Or did they remove the mattress tags? Are those authentic absinthe roots the kind they use in root beer?


Crochety Old Bastard (Artemis)
Absinthe Mafia
Username: Artemis

Post Number: 891
Registered: 10-2000


Posted on Wednesday, August 20, 2003 - 1:11 pm:   Edit PostPrint Post

I have a friend, about 65 years of age. He's often told me stories of a fiery licorice or anise flavored drink he had in Spain in the late 50s or early 60s, but it didn't mean anything to me until absinthe came to my attention.

I don’t get to see him as often as I’d like, but on Sunday we were able to get together and I brought along Conrad’s book, a fountain, some glasses and a spoon, sugar cubes, the whole mess - and four bottles:

Three non-commercial samples:
A version of the 1910 Retro-blanche that’s been much praised
A verte Pontarlier from the same part of the world
Another verte Pontarlier from a different part of the world
Un Emile Blanche

He didn’t like the first two at all, but I should point out that they were versions that used rose petals in attempt to make ladies like them - actually, a specific lady, but they were much too perfumey for my friend (“seems like something that would make me sick later” was his response).

The second verte Pontarlier he liked - it was a straight up traditional Pontarlier, albeit turbocharged with Wormwood blossoms from two continents.

The Emile, he liked best of all, finding it most like the anise concoction (whatever it was) he enjoyed in Spain years ago.

The thing he and his wife liked best of anything I offered was the Pernot Fraise de Bois liqueur; in fact I left the bottle with them. I have to agree it’s a superb liqueur.

I’m finding myself with a new appreciation for Emile Blanche as well - simple but good.

All of this means nothing except that Un Emile Blanche is a good introduction to modern absinthe with authentic roots, and if somebody was going to try and make some, keeping it simple is a sound practice.

All of the people in this story are imaginary. No names were changed, and they were all guilty anyway. Close cover before striking. Proceed at your own risk. No millionaires were harmed in the creation of this story.
"He is an unapologetic, crochety old bastard who will peddle any fibs that will make him a buck, or put him on a pedestal."

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