The Whore of MENSA, Woody Allen But it wasnt just intellectual experiences. They were peddling emotional ones, too. For fifty bucks, I learned, you could relate without getting close. For a hundred, a girl would lend you her Bartok records, have dinner, and then let you watch while she had an anxiety attack. For one-fifty, you could listen to FM radio with twins. For three bills, you got the works: A thin Jewish brunette would pretend to pick you up at the Museum of Modern Art, let you read her masters, get you involved in a screaming quarrel at Elaines over Freuds conception of women, and then fake a suicide of your choosing - the perfect evening, for some guys. Nice racket. Great town, New York. woodyallenitalia.tripod/short-uk.html
Posted on: Wed, 08 Oct 2014 15:06:34 +0000
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