One of the new riders, a New Rider of the Purple Sage, was Marilyn Monroe, wearing a wise and lavender version of that fabulous famous dress that blows upward erotically from the sidewalk grate in a memorable scene from the 1955 film "The Seven Year Itch."
(Speaking of which, I'm really itching to tell you that the movie's title yearns, cries out for, a hyphen between seven and year. And upon reflection, isn't the hyphen itself an intimate mark of punctuation, a subtle conjoiner, a conjugal connector? And upon even further reflection, is there really anything to that "seven-year itch" theory of wanderlust? Or is it more like "seven-minute itch"? The Laughorist wander-wonders, hyphenically.)Speaking of wonder-wanderings, I almost plaintively asked Marilyn for a lurid lapdance, but demurred.
What do you think I am, some kind of purple necro-nut? Besides, it's a public bus, not a bus with the adjective preceding bus missing that fourth letter, a typo I have paranoically dreaded in my years as an editor.
Further besides, my libido flags at morningtime, at less than half-mast, the mourning dove of love all but dormant.
