Jitterbug Perfume

by Tom Robbins

“It was then and there, wallowin' on me cot in Concord Prison, that I decided to do somethin' about it,” Wiggs said. “Because every bloody thing else is secondary to the creepin' chill o' personal extinction. “Death is the fly in everybody's ointment. “Death has never been acceptable to humanity, and 'tis less so today. “To the religious chap, I say, if God loves ye, he wouldn't sicken ye and then murder ye. To the rational fellow, and to the hedonist, as well, I say, death makes a mockery of your logic and your pleasure, alike. “Folks can never be truly happy, or truly free, or even truly sane as long as they got to be expectin' the vigor to decline and the swatter to fall. “So, darlin', I pushed aside everything else, cleared me jail cell o' professional journals and scholarly books and, yes, girlie magazines, too, although Alobar was to teach me that was a mistake, and I vowed to dedicate me every erg o' energy to this modest pursuit: the eradication o' death.” Priscilla looked at him with respectful disbelief. “Well, frankly,” she said, “I've got to classify that under the label of beating the old head against the old brick wall.” “Indeed?” “Why, yes, Wiggs. Of course. Everything that's alive was born, and everything that was born has got to die. There's no getting around it. It's the law of the universe.” Nude though he was, Dr. Dannyboy drew himself up like a bank president. He tapped his patch portentously, like a master of ceremonies testing a microphone. Then, in ...