It seems that most of the chiliasts went nowhere but to the Turkish facialist, who draped a monkey pelt across their face (alla los Fabulous Furry Freak, ’68) and returned them to the cocktail bars of downtown Barcelona, which now resemble the simian quarter of the zoo. Some escaped (one now runs the best bike shop in Amsterdam, betraying revolutionary axiom by providing excellent service for an excellent price) and some, following the advice of Alexander the Great, I have ambushed and beheaded. Curiously, few latter-day Luxemburgs of my acquaintance have chosen this path, aloft or below, fore or aft, and the oven-ready chicken punani still rules. I think the (female) enthusiasm for hot pants is coeval but unconnected with the beard plague: it is, fortunately, more generalised, and may yet provide the sternest test for Ralph Rotnem’s skirt length theory of stock market movement.
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“Ralph Rotnem’s skirt length theory of stock market movement”… glad I didn’t read that yesterday.
It’s all so very bullish.