Next up, Mrs. Nadine Aloha ~ in a sleek unyielding hot pink dress and matching elbow length gloves ~ does a perfect Marilyn Monroe from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. Nadine's childlike high pitch gives the song added panache, but above that :- or perhaps below -: her buxom figure stuffed into that casing catches the guys by the gonads as she strikes a diva pose -:
"The French were bred to die for love,
they delight in fighting duels,
but I prefer a man who lives
and gives expensive jewels. . . ."
Hoots and howls and table banging :- and then a quick hush for the perfect phrasing of je ne sais qua delivery -:
"A kiss on the hand may be quite continental
but Diamonds are a girl's best friend . . ."
Suddenly. "Errrrp." A rolling pungent octopus burp erupts from the rotten pond just beyond the last festive string of lights. Someone else is enjoying the entertainment.
The timing causes raucous falling out of chairs on assbones and the waitress slips on a pineapple chunk and loses a whole tray of Suffering Bastards and the general hoopla gets underway. In the corner, Liz Taylor makes out with Santa Claus. Nadine tries to keep it together as the immortal well-nourished female -:
"A kiss may be grand but it won't pay the rental on your humble flat,
or help you at the automat,
Men grow cold as girls grow old
and we all lose our charms in the end,
But square-cut or pear-shaped
these rocks don't lose their shape,
Diamonds are a girl's best friend. . ."
"Nadine, Oh Nadine!" Bob hollers ~ completely turned on by her pretensions. The crowd goes nuts and they begin to sing along in perfect choir-like pitch -:
"Time rolls on and youth is gone,
and you can't straighten up when you bend,
but stiff back or stiff knees,
you stand straight at Tiffany's,
Diamonds . . .
I don't mean rhinestones!
but Diamonds . . ."
And the whole Bung Bar at Bingbang yells -: ". . . are a girl's best friend!"
Several young male patrons kiss Nadine's hot pink glove all the way past the elbow as she is awarded a Slinky ~ to add to her enormous collection of Slinkies ~ and she zigzags up to the bar ~ terribly difficult to walk in that piece of equipment.
"Give me a Blue Lagoon, Jack," she says to the King of the Beats ~ finally blissful in his fellaheen paradise where he doesn't have to write anything anymore ~ for he can remember, and only remember, till kingdom come.
For kingdom has come.
There is no written word ~ no obsessive notebooks ~ no pencils for the memory babe, now the most beautiful happy man in the world. He winks.
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