He is lacking in savoir faire, and utterly. He feigns a blase disposition but his conversation betrays his unsophistication and eagerness to please. He likes to engage in discourse filled with platitudes and sophistries, a charlatan pretending to be a savant. His political commentaries, which he gives around gratis, are often fatuous and his critiques of literature, expressed in a manner theatrical and with much gesticulation, are almost always lacking in depth. His laughs are intentionally strident, as he finds that that is the only way he could draw attention to himself.
**
On my marshmallows
I emptied a huge pack of fluffy white marshmallows into a jam jar, to be consumed abstemiously. I take two or three at a time, never more, because they are just so pretty in the mason jar with its floral engraving and white and red checkered tin lid and I want to prolong the prettiness as much as I can. Aesthetics win over the urges of the tummy.
On the "odor genie"
The odor genie absorbs the fetid air coming from the dingy dog that set up camp outside our house (poor thing has yet to receive its first bath from its master). Whenever the genie absorbs the squalid smell that intermittently wafts through the window screen and into the room, it effuses a raspberry scent that at first smells sweetly like candy but which the brain soon learns to classify as acrid because of the fetidness we know it heralds as it masks.
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