This is a wickedly funny book! It was well worth my search to find a copy. Excerpts: Becoming an Old Man We must not be taken in by the myth of youth, the unending propaganda to the effect that young are men are younger than old men; that they are better looking; that they are slimmer, stronger and more athletic; that they can hold a girl in more romantic fashion and speak more sweetly. Nonsense! Pure balderdash put out by a secret organization of clean old men whose design it is to conquer the world and who use the unwitting young as fronts and dupes. The fact of the matter is that young men lack skill and experience and are very likely to approach a girl as though she were a sack of wheat. It is the old man--suave, debonair, maturely charming--who knows exactly what to do and how to do it, and is therefore better at it. In fact, once when I imprinted on a young lady's lips a chaste and fatherly kiss for about five minutes, I stopped and said, sorrowfully, "Wouldn't you rather be kissed by a twenty-one-year-old boy?" She frowned and said, "Of course not. If you'd ever been kissed by a twenty-one-year-old boy you'd know better than to ask." Remember that. In any direct competition, the old man is bound to win and and the young man knows it. What, then, is the young man's defense? He calls names. He speaks of a "dirty old man." The very phrase, originated as it was by young men is a standing testimonial to the ignorance of the same young men. Sex is dirty--if you do it right. Young men don't know how to do it right, so they stay clean. Some old men never learn how and they stay clean, too. But unless you have the ambitition to retreat into dull hopelessness, don't do it. Don't be bashful with the ladies while young and retreat altogether as you grow older. Grow bolder with the years; advance, advance. Be a dirty old man and be proud of it. Becoming a Sensuous Dirty Old Man Let us image that you are a dirty old man but are dedicated to keeping it a secret because you are a bank vice-president and are interested in exuding an odor of sanctity so that no will notice, until it is too late, that you are preparing to abscond. Now a lovely girl walks past you with a dress whose neckline is generously loose and under which there is clearly and obviously no bra. What do you do? What you do is roll your eyes briefly in their sockets with the eyelashes lowered so that no one will see what you are doing. The result? You don't see anything at all, except perhaps for one flash of quiver that is far more upsetting than sating. And what is the girl's reaction? She sees that flicker of eye even if no one else does (since she's watching for it) and despises you as a rotten little coward. You see that look of contempt in her eyes (for it goes through you like an icepick) and your self-esteem is shattered. Indeed, there is a very good chance that the girl will instantly realize that a man who would look at her with so miserably sidelong a glance is a man who would abscond with every cent of the bank's property and she will inform on you at once. But suppose you are not only a dirty old man, but are proud of if, too, and suppose the same girl walks by in the same condition. Now it is possible to be joyous and open. You can emit a melodious whistle or a snort of pleasure. You can stare openly. You can walk over for a closer view. You can address the girl in a friendly fashion. And how does the girl react? Why she is pleased that she has created such an obvious stir in a gentleman of such substantial and prosperous appearance. She realizes that you agree with her own opinion of herself and this can't help but impress her with the excellence of your taste. Seeing in you a person whom she can respect, she will think, "What a nice, gentlemanly old man," and will smile at you. From that to a friendly word or two is but a step, and from that to a pat on the cheek or some slight pressure on the arm is but another. Your own self-esteem will shoot up and if you are the vice-president of a bank, you will be so buoyed up by all this that you will go right to your office and put back all the money. This is only one example of many I can cite in which being an open and honest dirty old man is an enormous aid to public morality. Use Your Eyes! Don't peep at girls--STARE! As a result of youthful training and literary mischief, too many old men have have never learned to use their eyes. I'll give you an example. On the TV program, "Candid Camera," movies were taken of what happened when a girl dressed in a scanty bikini walked into a hardware store to buy a pint of nails and a loaf of electric wiring. She was a shapely wench of the kind that would simply fill a hardware store with hard ware. In the store were ordinary customers, also including men of mature years, who, under better conditions of upbringing, might well have been dirty old men of decency. What do you suppose these men did? Nothing. They looked away, blushing so hard that my black-and-white set broke into embarrassed color. Occasionally, as in the case of the banker I mentioned earlier, one of them would flick his eyes to one side in an attempt to get an optical whiff of beauty. Over and over again the sequence was taken at different times and different stores. Always the same. Always the painful unawareness and the occasional flick of eyes. Pretending to be unaware of the young lady, mind you, is not only a negation of whatever miserable manhood the negating person may aspire to, but is a foul and and ungentlemanly insult to the young lady. Did you ever think of that? Well, think of it. Here's a charming young lady, rose-pink with youth and utterly happy in her charming virginity, struggling with squeals of delight into an upper and lower garment carefully fitted by her proud mamma into an exact 1.5 sizes too small. She is then sent off to the hardware store, bashfully aware that she is pretty, and overlapping in all direction, and simply waiting for someone to take notice of her so that she might dimple and curtsy in appreciation. And what happens? The clods don't look at her but find themselves overwhelmingly interested in samples of wall-sockets. What is that but a clear indication that the clods would rather plug into the wall-socket, so to speak, than into the young lady. The poor thing probably cried her eyes out--to say nothing of the broken heart of the gray-haired mother. As for the eye-flickering, that is worse yet. I have mentioned it in connection with the banker, but let us now go into it in greater detail. First, the young lady sees it, of course, and considers you (as I said before) a contemptible coward. There is worse, however. If she is particularly inexperienced, she will interpret the quick look away as signifying that even the most evanescent view of her body must be sickening. To cause such a feeling to rise in the breast of a young girl is clearly the act of a miserable cad--all the more so since the feeling, in view of the style of dress being considered, is more than ordinarily visible. Second, you are yourself cheated. There is a momentary glimpse of maidenly quiver, a quick impression of the gentle lift of soft flesh. That is no good. That is worse than useless. It merely drives home to you, you a miserable hobbledehoy, that you are not only a coward but that you don't even have the common decency to be a thorough-going-coward and not look at all. Well, then, what should a person do when a bikini-clad damsel takes her place at one's side? Isn't it obvious? One should look. What Do You Leer At? Consider the dilemma of the young lady, for instance, who feels impelled to make known to the world at large the superlative properties of her sublaryngeal area. The fact that she does so is a tribute to her efforts to make America beautiful, for it has its drawbacks. It is 8 A.M. of a brisk spring morning and the temperature is 40 degrees F. at the bus stop. In her eagerness to brighten the day, she has displayed a stretch of her chest to the elements. Now do you suppose she wants to catch cold? Do you think she intends to come down with an attack of virulent goose-pimples that may (just barely) fester? No, she is merely following the golden rule which, in case you have forgotten, goes, as I can recall it: Do unto others as others would like to have you do unto them. Is this noble and selfless girl to be ignored? Is she to be allowed to cough herself into pitiful pneumonia with no leer to light her path to the hospital cot? Never. Surely not while America boasts her squads of earnest dirty old men. If you are one and should spy a damsel of this sort, approach and, for the sake of decency and humanity, leer. Let there be no mistake about what it is you are leering at. Bend your eyes boldly at the dressline; chuckle throatily; snort and make clicking noises with your tongue. In short, offer the young lady your respectful attention and she will walk past you gratefully, wheezing a bit, but warmed by your respectful attention to the point where she may escape pneumonia after all. What to Say Let us imagine the following circumstance, which frequently arises. You have complimented a woman on the fetching color of her bra, a corner of which you have glimpsed, or (if she is wearing a miniskirt, and has seated herself with abandon at a time when you are suitably alert) on the clever match of the pattern of her nethergarment with that of her dress--or else on her courage in not wearing a bra or, possibly, a nethergarment. In response to your warm admiration she is very likely to giggle and say, "Oh, you have made my day." It is then the work of a moment to say gallantly, "Your day, my dear young miss [or reverend madam] is not what I am trying to make." ... Remember that even the most casual of of compliments can be given that extra little touch that women adore. Any fool can see a woman in a new dress (or even an old one) and say, "Good heavens, what a magnificent dress!" If he leaves it there, it is the kind of routine remark that an unfledged youth might say--pleasant, but lacking the true tang of the stately compliment that only old age and experience can deliver. The dirty old man would say, "Good heaves, what a magnificent dress," then, after a pause, add with a note of awe, "Or am I merely judging by the contents?" No woman of flesh and blood could resist that. ... The dirty old man should hold himself ready at all times and under even the most untoward circumstances to express gallantry. I have recorded the case, for instance, of the dirty old man who seated himself wearily in an empty chair in an office while waiting to see someone. A young lady entered and said, in a sharp, unfriendly manner, "That's my chair you're sitting on." At which point the dirty old man replied, without rising, "Merely endeavoring, my dear young lady, to absorb the pleasant lingering warmth that your ravishing rear has left upon this otherwise cold and inviting chair." The young lady not only permitted him to keep the seat--she brought him a cup of coffee as well.