This Is a Paper
I never married, but before you nod your head, say “ah!” and envision some dried prune of a thing with lipstick on her yellowing teeth, I’ll remind you of my uncanny Italianate beauty, which combined with my cooler Finnish sangfroid, makes many a tummy rumble with guttural desire. Then, of course, there is the series of torrid affairs, extracurricular to which is my practice of every year or so, plucking one lucky student ? this year the impossibly beautiful, and potentially brilliant, James ? to use for my own hedonistic purposes. James is particularly lucky, because I have designated him the assistant editor of my long awaited autobiography. This project, for which I intend James to receive the highest departmental honors and that much-needed, incipient whiff of intrigue so necessary to the launching of any brilliant academic career, should take the better part of this Junior and Senior years at (name of school). Then, upon completion, if the project has not caused him to lose his senses completely, I intend to thoroughly deflower his mind with meticulous intricacy and pleasure before allowing him to graduate, and ultimately discarding him like a used sheet of Kleenex.