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Clockwise Cat Strikes Back

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Marchioness of Fressing. Pope said, "I banged her once or twice/but got infested with her<br />

lice," to which Voltaire replied: "Si Dieu n'existait pas, il faudrait l'inventer."<br />

After he was through with Pope and feeling good and horny he looked up the<br />

wench in Swinetown, who gave him a discount the second time around. "Come again,"<br />

she said. "I'm afraid I can't," Voltaire replied, misunderstanding her intent.<br />

Voltaire waded through the slops and reached his quarters at two in the morning.<br />

The stench in the streets was horrendous. The sounds of the night intruded on his<br />

philosophical thoughts as he twisted and turned in his lumpy bed: screams and shouts and<br />

awful retching sounds as the patrons of the taverns and alehouses emptied their stomachs<br />

of the foul liquids and gasses and tainted meats that had lain there all evening. Then came<br />

the clop-clop-clop of a coach carrying another of the Nonentities to his palatial home and<br />

mad laughter from the loony bin down the road. The noise was enough to drive anyone<br />

crazy.<br />

But Voltaire was actually having the time of his life. He got used to the puddings<br />

and pies and the shit in the streets. He discovered Shakespeare and Sir Isaac Newton. He<br />

met Swift and Walpole and befriended Bolingbroke and Chesterfield as well as the<br />

Duchess of Marlborough, whom the Duke had liked to ball with his boots on after<br />

galloping home from the battlefield. She was still a looker and still a ball of fire, giving<br />

Voltaire a good dressing down when he dared to criticize her memoirs. Voltaire took<br />

everything in stride. He was used to being hated and periodically blew off steam with the<br />

Swinetown wenches. One of them used a whip on him, but that's also another story.<br />

Toward the end of 1728 Voltaire returned to France and made a killing in the state<br />

lottery. After that, it was all smooth sailing for the little man, give or take a couple of runins<br />

with the law. He was on his way to immortality.<br />

Author bio: Fred Russell is the pen name of an American-born writer living in Israel.<br />

His novels Rafi's World (Fomite Press), dealing with Israel's emerging criminal class, and<br />

The Links in the Chain (CCLaP), a thriller set in New York against an Arab-Israel<br />

background, were both published in 2014. His stories and essays have appeared in Third<br />

Coast, Polluto, Fiction on the Web, Wilderness House Literary Review, Ontologica,<br />

Unlikely Stories: Episode 4, The Satirist, CounterPunch, Gadfly, Cultural Weekly,<br />

Ragazine, etc.

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