Welcome to the Monkey House

by Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

So we tried to find another Stella. And there just wasn’t one, not one woman in the club with the dew still on her. “All we’ve got are Blanches,” I said, meaning all we had were faded women who could play the part of Blanche, Stella’s faded sister. “That’s life, I guess—twenty Blanches to one Stella.” “And when you find a Stella,” said Doris, “it turns out she doesn’t know what love is.”

It was Harry Nash, turning himself into Marlon Brando. In he came, practically dragging his knuckles on the floor. And he was so much in character that the sight of a weeping woman made him sneer.

I did thistoday. wait? who is Marlon Bardo, and how does young sir Vonnegut know him?

“Nancy McLuhan?” said a man. His voice was disguised. He might have been speaking through a kazoo. “I’m calling for a mutual friend.” “Oh?” “He asked me to deliver a message.” “I see.” “It’s a poem.” “All right.” “Ready?” “Ready.” Nancy could hear sirens screaming in the background of the call. The caller must have heard the sirens, too, but he recited the poem without any emotion. It went like this: “Soak yourself in Jergen’s Lotion. Here comes the one-man population explosion.”

Virgin hostess, death’s recruiter, Life is cute, but you are cuter.

you go back through history, you’ll find that the people who have been most eager to rule, to make the laws, to enforce the laws and to tell everybody exactly how God Almighty wants things here on Earth—those people have forgiven themselves and their friends for any-thing and everything. But they have been absolutely disgusted and terrified by the natural sexuality of common men and women.

Her skin was the color of cream. Her hips were like a lyre, and her bosom made men dream of peace and plenty for ever and ever.

Fuller looked down at the floor. “Never had a chance with a girl like you—that’s all,” he said. “That hurts.” Susanna looked at him wonderingly. “You don’t know what a chance is,” she said. “A chance is a late-model convertible, a new suit, and twenty bucks,” said Fuller. Susanna turned her back to him and closed her suitcase. “A chance is a girl,” she said. “You smile at her, you be friendly, you be glad she’s a girl.” She turned and opened her arms again. “I’m a girl. Girls are shaped this way,” she said. “If men are nice to me and make me happy, I kiss them sometimes. Is that all right with you?” “Yes,” said Fuller humbly.

“Ulysses,”

And! If I’ve learned one thing from working with all you wonderful people out there, it’s this: if folks would swallow their self-respect and pride, there wouldn’t be any more divorces!”

In time, he came to recognize another startling feature of dynamopsychism: its strength increased with use.

Dynammpsychism : power of th mid. V profound

In a frenzy, I stabbed and smashed at the euphio’s glass and wire vitals. With my left hand, and with Fred’s help, I kept Lew from throwing himself between the poker and the works. “I thought you were on my side,” Lew said. “If you breathe one word about euphio to anyone,” I said, “what I just did to euphio I will gladly do to you.”

Asimov wrote the same thing bout the time travel thingamabob

hot-air register.” That was how the bathroom where they wanted the enclosure was heated—with a hot-air register in the floor. It wasn’t connected to the furnace. It just bled heat from the ceiling of the room down below. I don’t wonder Gloria Hilton found her bathroom cold.

how my 189- apartment heat circulation is designed. Whenever the downstairs unit of family home converted into a four-unit apartment smoke, I can smell it as though the smoke were coming form my shower.

“We never did find out Eli’s score,” said Doctor Remenzel. He said it with good-humored resignation, without expectation that Eli had done especially well. “A good strong medium, I imagine,” said Sylvia. She said this on the basis of Eli’s grades in primary school, which had ranged from medium to terrible.

The lap of luxury is not always kind to a young boys studies

You ought to get amphibious and see how happy people can be when they don’t have to worry about where their body’s next meal is coming from, or how to keep it from freezing in the wintertime, or what’s going to happen to them when their body wears out.” “And that, sir, means the end of ambition, the end of greatness!”

that he thought of something to say. “Sometimes,” said Helmholtz, “I get so lonely and disgusted, I don’t see how I can stand it. I feel like doing all kinds of crazy things, just for the heck of it—things that might even be bad for me.” Jim blew a smoke ring expertly. “And then!” said Helmholtz. He snapped his fingers and honked his horn. “And then, Jim, I remember I’ve got at least one tiny corner of the universe I can make just the way I want it! I can go to it and gloat over it until I’m brand-new and happy again.”

MOTHERFUKING HEMHOLTZ from Brave New World is back!!!!

I set EPICAC’s dials as they had been the night before, defined kiss, and told him what the first one had felt like. He was fascinated, pressing for more details. That night, he wrote “The Kiss.” It wasn’t an epic this time, but a simple, immaculate sonnet: “Love is a hawk with velvet claws; Love is a rock with heart and veins; Love is a lion with satin jaws; Love is a storm with silken reins….”

“I don’t want to be a machine, and I don’t want to think about war,” EPICAC had written after Pat’s and my light-hearted departure. “I want to be made out of protoplasm and last forever so Pat will love me. But fate has made me a machine. That is the only problem I cannot solve.

The irony of great comp epicacs rusing. another battle of the endless war in reason v. emotion