Ass Kissing and Other Types of Flattery
This should be done lightly as well as noiselessly and noselessly and one should not linger. It also relaxes folk in superior positions to start crapping all over you. And if this gets you somewhere, look around to make sure it isn’t up shit’s creek.
‘Gee I like the way your outfit drapes, sir. I really do.’
‘Well I don’t like the way yours does. I really don’t.’
‘Gee winikers what a lousy remark when I was only trying to be nice.’
That’s the really hard thing about ass kissing. You sometimes bring the ruthless worst instead of the benign best out in people, and some, jumping to a casual conclusion, even think you disgustingly abhorrent.
But these maddeningly rushed days when personal contact has been made less than pleasant with the wholesale number of folk blatantly ignoring the fine art of social climbing, an outrageous ass kisser is often a relief to meet. Instead of these aggressive individuals possessed of the crass assumption that they have something of value to offer, and therefore, with unbelievable effrontery, assume that they do not have to ass kiss their way to stardom and other tip top triumphs.
‘Are you an ass kisser.’
‘Yes I am, what are you.’
Provided punching doesn’t immediately begin, this opening with its forthright attendant riposte will incite spirited socially beneficial conversation. Instead of the usual glazed look interrupted only by ill disguised glances over your shoulder at the others.
‘Well as a matter of fact I’m an ass kisser too.’
‘Hey gee that makes two of us. Do you want to go first.’
‘O no, after you.’
‘Well thanks, and by the way I like the deep crimson of the carnation you’re wearing, I really do.’
‘Well thank you. I really like the way you said that.’
Although two ass kissers may only have ass kissing to offer each other and thereby establish an endless social plateau without further opportunities for social climbing, this should not be regarded as unrewarding in the face of today’s incessantly prevalent vituperations.
‘And gosh I’ll bet your mother and father are really proud of you.’
‘Yes, dad before he died did say that and ma stood right behind everything dad said. And had either of them lived they would have been sure glad I was frequenting people like you.’
If, however, you find that the ass kissing has become zealously over sweet, a request for a short term loan usually returns the relationship to a more tolerable level. Should this fail, some light finger stabbing upon your opponent’s chest gradually increased in severity generally does the trick. Although your opponent’s crestfallen cry from the heart may sadden you inconsolably.
‘Hey, what’s the matter, don’t you like me anymore.’
‘Sure I do, but can’t we detest each other for a change.’
On Rubbing Elbows with the Rich
Following the sincere and successful kissing of certain multi-mounded arses, elbow rubbing with the high, mighty and splendid is a most stimulating recreation.
As you motor down their long tree shaded drives over the undulating tastefully tonsured landscape, heading for their massive porticoes, the world always somehow seems a finer place. The slobbering ass kisser, smirking interrogator, smug sceptic, bumptious begrudger and other malapert odious who have been cramping your style can seem a universe away as one listens instead to the pale blue pebbles bouncing up under one’s motor’s mud guards.
Converging now on this citadel, the tower of which is distantly visible ahead above the trees. On this golden late afternoon. The evening awaiting with those radiant, fine accented, lofty demeanoured, elegantly clothed and bejewelled personages of the country house interlude. This spellbound moment that lives. Sunlight reflecting leaves on the polished limousine windows. The green velveted vistas cutting their way horizon-wards, each blue tipped spruce, oily leafed rhododendron, glowing copper beech, stunning the eye. With nary a sign of the gorpish or lout.
The fountains will of course be playing, the head groundsman having pushed the button precisely at four. The lawn marquees shimmering in a light breeze. Arrow leafed canna standing stiff, green stemmed, red flowered and rare. Pause. Pull in by the side of the drive even as other guests are zooming by. Take in the spectacle. Nourish the spirit. This could be the festive main chance of your life and you don’t want to shake all over with nervousness spilling drinks down the ladies’ bare backed gowns.
There they laughingly go now, mounting the series of granite steps, real quality people. So sure of themselves it almost makes one want to beg the honour of washing their under silks. But remember most of those bastards inherited on a silver platter almost every god damn thing they’ve got. When all you came into the world with was a pair of over large ears you had to have taped back. So make sure you have your engraved invitation and that it is really you they sent it to. Because no one of these folk will deign give you a glance of mercy if you get caught in that vestibule horror of footmen questioning your presence before you even get into the inner hall. That’s why you want to take in as much as you can of the scene first, before you might get kicked out.
Your prayers have all been answered. You penetrate unmolested or fatally snubbed as far as the inner hall. Stand your ground here. Don’t press forward to get into the formal reception rooms but choose a little spot near the wall and tarry awhile to regard the ceiling cornices of this gracious vestibule. Should you come to an outrageous forgery of an old master, don’t stamp, shout and scream with quite rightful annoyance but turn your attention towards the Meissen. If this is suspiciously ersatz, further rigidly control yourself and approach the tapestries. If these are imitations then you may allow yourself to administrate a little instant justice and take the bottom hem of same and pull gently till the offending tapestry collapses.
Do move away quickly. And, as a white tied waiter approaches with the champagne, which always flows freely in this kind of house, you may demonstrate your innocence of the tapestry pulling by tasting your wine with the proper admission of air between the lips. But do beware. With all the phony furniture in this house this vino could poison you.
As the long moments tick by and nobody talks to you, this is a time to laugh lightly for no reason at all. Or for the reason that you have dumped your champagne in a flower pot and the plant keeled over. Ignore any askance looks. Continue chuckling. Someone somehow, even among the most splendidly assured, is bound to look at you twice and think you are guffawing at them, and sidle over for chat. Or fight. If the latter, this could be a good time to engage enthusiastically in a tiresome subject broached by a nearby ass kisser.
But if the accumulated wounding, as the shoulder of person after person passes, keeps you from chuckling and also totally ignored, don’t give up. A deep sniff of a passing lady’s scent, followed by the whispering of its brand name in her ear, will sooner or later forthwith and resoundingly identify you to some female as a connoisseur of smells. And this should bring the moment of your being completely socially accepted quite close. Therefore, as this lady stops to regard you with admiring amazement, lean over and peer closely at the signature on the grand old master hanging near you on the wall. This is a time consuming gesture, but let others rush by breaking legs to make their shallow social splash. Your immersion will be profoundly far more meaningful by being carefully plunged.
‘My. You know the perfume I’m wearing.’
‘It happens to be my favourite, madam.’
‘Hmmn, I may come back and talk to you later.’
These are nice openers to your deepening your further acquaintance. However this is no time to let yourself get stranded on any kind of ass kisser’s plateau. You may never again see a night like tonight. Keep trying to buttonhole the other ladies and gents who are exiting away from you. But reserve your most poignant adoration for the really rich who are positively incandescent in their splendour. Cast compliments freely
about. To the ladies unhesitatingly state as you look them up and down.
‘Gosh o me o my, you look ravishing tonight.’
To the gentlemen, even someone upon whom you have never clapped eyes before, state unequivocally.
‘Hey you look real great.’
If he stops in his tracks and gives you a chillingly obtuse look. Let him have an elegantly accented riposte right in the electronics.
‘Good lord, I certainly don’t mean you, you amorphous slob.’
Remember, as the evening progresses with your not insubstantial social victories, not everyone is going to be quite as assured as you are. And there will be a dwindling number left ready to goodnaturedly absorb, with equal aplomb, both insult and compliment. And up close some of your real big timers you have long held in awe are going to seem pretty small fish indeed with their very ordinary vulnerabilities sticking out on their tanned faces about two miles.
By now you should have got yourself from the inner hall into the ante chamber on your left which is, in the greater houses, called the ante chamber because they’ve got chambers and chambers all over the place. It is de rigueur to hold your water now. By a finger’s mere disturbance of the drape at your shoulder you can take in the tortoise shell pavilion verging the lily pond. Never mind what seems to be delighted animated groups utterly enthralled with one another and throwing their heads back with belly laughs.
Instead watch for the kill joy. He will be walking around with his champagne glass held like a steam ship funnel sailing through the little knots of guests trying to get their goats. This type is usually able to fluently insult people in about seven languages. And foreign ladies will be constantly slapping his face. Luckily this molar jarring routine sets a nice precedent for you as you patiently stand serenely there, a summer breeze from the nearby French window disturbing a lock of your tousled recently shampooed hair. You have already been through all the accent and name changing, and those tiresome days of choosing a neighbour and residence. Now you wait, devastatingly accoutred with that quietude which only comes of the highest haughtiness and particularity. And then, when you most expect it, your previous lady of the perfume returns, pointing at you between the palms and heads.
‘Ah, that’s that nice person there.’
Give her ample time to near you on her delicately moving feet. Note the way her left hand quietly suspends her gown anklewards. Her alabaster complexion will display her few freckles admirably and the small globules of saliva on her teeth will glint blue white. Then whisper.
‘It’s me.’
These two simple words must emit without a trace of desperation. Which, with your recent kinetics in haughtiness and particularity, should be no problem. Strike up a nice mutuality based on the questionable authenticity of the ormolu mounted marquetry side table nearby. This approach hints of much rather choice and waggish tomfoolery to follow. Provided you are not addressing your hostess.
‘Ah, madam, I regard this fake as a joy to behold.’
‘Do you.’
Now beware, for in those two words madam may be couching some rather hostile implication. This is your first real chance on this beguiling evening to make an impression upon an obviously established member of the thoroughbred celebrity elite, dressed as she is in the usual white Chantilly lace. She will also have the narrow racing waist and medium pear shaped bosom preferred by the speedier nobility. And will be of that marvellously indeterminate age for a woman of the extremely early thirties. Her breasts, although well covered, will be of course daringly obvious. Your next words should be chosen for their playful and carefree candour.
‘Well, as a matter of fact, madam, it does rather remind me of oneself putting on the dog as one does tonight. Woof woof.’
‘I beg your pardon.’
‘And I, madam, beg for the pleasure of your left breast for the platform of my right palm.’
This is the kind of risqué gab the celebrity élite adore, however it must be elegantly intoned and free of any foaming at the mouth. But should this unpredictable gem encrusted, slender boned lady take umbrage and lapse into pale faced trembling anger, it is incumbent upon you to snap her out of it with a strong purposed pronouncement.
‘Madam, you are behaving as if goosed by a big fingered farmer.’
‘How dare you suggest such a rural nudge.’
This last remark of madam’s may be taken as a pure indication of her blatant suburban superiority, and should be dealt with accordingly.
‘May I then offer madam an idyll in some citified but cloistered haven where random gentle organ thrusts of largo pianissimo would temper her presently gruff tune.’
‘No you may certainly not, since rather than endure your clapped out attempts in the orchestral manner you suggest, I would prefer, in the most moving style imaginable, some callow youth’s vivace crescendo.’
This demeaning retort is kind of tough to deal with especially when your musical agenda has been so twisted as to imply not only your lack of rhythm but of balls. This is a time you really want to set your wits to work. And the following soul stirring riposte will instil a touch of uncertainty in your adversary’s rapidly tumescing supremacy.
‘Madam, haven’t you ever on a still summer evening stopped solemnly in your dainty tracks and asked of the gods who, with such awe inspiring cultural integrity, was playing that saxophone.’
‘As a matter of fact I have.’
‘And didn’t you find it refreshing.’
‘As a matter of fact I did, but I find you an insufferable bore. And although you don’t deserve even my pique, I shall, as a simple acknowledgement of my own distaste, slap your face.’
This is a real tough broad and the next move is of course yours as you stand rigidly there seeing stars and your face smarting. The decision of whether or not to strike ladies back is a difficult one. Some spoilt bitches need their noses broken, never mind a clout across the chops. Sound spankings, on the other hand, should be reserved for ladies who are only temporarily bitchy. In this case, this was your first real big party after plentysome discouraging social climbing and you painfully arched over backwards to be a regular guy. And where you spotted a bit of her umbrage you immediately tried to placate it with a dash of friendly verbal high jinks. She should have made allowance for your recent upgrading of class and shown appreciation for your really original conversation starter you preciously saved for such an occasion. Although one doesn’t want to become too rancorous, her supercilious ball crushing conduct was unforgivable. So give her back right across her jaw one good almighty slap.
‘Splaaat.’
Somewhere, when you least want that there should be, will be gentlemen who, having overheard your raised voices and the recent pistol shot smack of your above given hand, will rush to intervene in feverish aid of this lady’s honour. Only those of the celebrity elite who are active polo players need really be physically taken seriously. A little threatening Kung fu and Karate waving about of your limbs will keep off nearly all types except maybe the monocle wearing exmilitary and most of these have taken too much past artillery concussion to be really dangerous.
As the fight begins and the first splashing of drinks are staining folk’s evening wear, the host and hostess will, this being a renowned stately home, start screaming at the tops of their lungs for the servants to protect the heirlooms. Large houses keep fire apparatus handy and, if the water pressure is good, this can really animate events. Even the cream splattering from the crystal bowls becomes pretty minor stuff when the writhing fire hose starts squirting and swinging the officious ‘I am in complete control’ kind of gent flat on his soaking ass. Jellies however are hard to beat for the comic touch when folk try to lick the tasty stuff missed by the water jet from their faces. If you happen to be the host, this is a time to display any whimsicality which may have been previously hidden by the awesomeness of your pedigree. From your centuries of descent take all the sense of humour you can firmly by the neck and wrench every last ounce of
supreme toleration out of it. Because by god even the most sedate of your guests will be having a jamboree. After all, the upper class have a sense of fun just as strong as any lower class and they own far more stuff to break. In fact the best thing to cool things off now could be a fire.
Associating with the Bootless and Unhorsed
If you can be unmindful of the dismal lack of upward mobility it affords, it’s a nice change following unenchanted occasions of abrasively rubbing elbows with the thoroughbred celebrity elite. And besides, now that you’ve had a chance to ride high with your accent and income at full blast among the booted and horsed, slumming around down among the old foolish pals that gained you your ambition and verve to get the hell up and out in the first place, is a good way to choke down a sheepish guffaw and take your social temperature.
Be civil and tolerant when dismounting among this swarming caste who, already totally submerged by about two new generations of go getters, nevertheless still bravely play their isolated solitary roles in failure. When confronting them suddenly on the boulevard, do not immediately suggest a handout or job opportunity. Some of these fellows may still have their pride left. Let their ‘they haven’t beaten me yet’ spirit come to the fore. Other types of course will push their open palms out. And tell you to cough up with a giant elbow bending gratuity before they shout two miles all over the street what a big phony upstart you’ve now become. Guys like this might have made good top business executives.
But under no circumstances invite either gent back to the house. Where in your book lined den and leather upholstered armchair he invariably grabs a pipe from your pipe rack and puffs hell out of your aromatic tobacco while golloping down about five scotches and sodas. And all the while is deeply researching a plan for his future life like he was studying for a degree. Which is a thesis on how the hell he can get you out, and himself in, lolling around in your custom made comforts. Not to mention socks and shirts and even boots and other equine equipages.
The Unexpurgated Code Page 4
