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Zweibel's Got A Sweetheart!

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Zweibel's Got A Sweetheart!

I've got a sweet-heart! I've got a sweet-heart! Her name is Miss Bernadette Fiske, and not only does she claim that I am her best beau, but that I am her tootsy-wootsy, as well! Huzzah! I may be 132 years old, but I feel more like 85! Oh, I am as giddy as a dish of jelly!

I have not yet seen Miss Fiske with my own eyes. Our courtship is solely one of the written word. You hydrocephalics wouldn't understand, but our correspondence bespeaks a love that exists only between those of the loftiest spiritual proclivities. To demonstrate, here is an excerpt from one of her letters:

That I cannot be in your loving arms sends me into the deepest throes of grief, precious T. Herman. But my work at the orphanage must continue. I am convinced I have received a calling to do the Lord's work. Your previous monetary donations have been abundant and generous. But only this morning, 12 new foundlings were left at the orphanage door, just as funds are again quite low. I feel ashamed to ask you this, sweet T. Herman, but could you send another $15,000? Again, the customary fives, tens and twenties are preferred.

As you can see, Miss Fiske is a living saint and, she assures me, a virgin, as well. It is interesting how women tend to be either virgins or whores. My mother, God rest her soul, was a virgin. The late Mrs. Zweibel was a whore. My old secretary, Mildred, was a virgin but became a whore. Nurse Pin-head stumps me entirely.

Speaking of the help, although I usually maintain an aloof distance from my servants, my acquisition of a lady-friend was too much to keep to my-self. I called in my man-servant Standish, Nurse Pin-head, Augustus the stable-boy and my scribe Braintree, and announced the news. I was hailed with sycophantic congratulations. I then asked if they had significant others of their own, and they replied no. "Of course not," I cried. "You are all servile and unattractive, while I am a great plutocrat whose wealth and power serves as its own aphrodisiac!" I then nearly laughed up my pharynx. It is true that my love-affair has restored my deliciously capricious sense of humor!

Oh, and since I'm sure you're all wondering, here is what Miss Fiske looks like. She enclosed this image in her last letter. What a beauty! And she is all mine!

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