Fit For One Who Sits And Cries

Me:  "You were around back then, right?  Weren't you a Warhol Superstar wannabe?"

The Tutor:  "I was?  What of it?"

Me:  "Nothing really.  It's just I was curious if you ever slept with that Christa Päffgen fräulein.  It seems everyone else did."

The Tutor:  "Nothing ever happened between us, VD.  Honest liebchen.
I've told you time and time again, she liked her lovers half-dead - you know, like Lou Reed.
I was much too effervescent for her."


This is, of course, a complete fiction.  That hure was at least two decades older than The Tutor - and he hates Warhol with a passion.  Nevertheless, how could you not love the riveting dread of her fine monotonic tomb-like and raspy vocals in the old classic, All Tomorrow's Parties?  Of certain interest is the revelation that The Tutor - after admiring the song for almost 40 years - only discovered in 2012 that the vocalist was actually female and not a lisping Lou Reed!  Can you believe it?
Me = VD = ALT-F = Pudenda Non Grata




UPDATE

Fuck off.  Go read The Bell Jar you poseur.
The Tutor = Bilious C. Pudenda

Life is Great!

The Tutor:  "It seems I drink as if there is not only no tomorrow, but hardly anything left of today.  Should I be worried?"

Me:  "That line, so reflective of the time-is-of-the-essence school of inebriation, is a thing of beauty, unbridled clarity, and representative of a philosophy I once fully embraced.  Fortunately for my liver, these days I don't partake very often.  Perhaps this new-found restraint explains my current state of nagging optimism which seems to have clouded my general view of mankind and "life" in general."