Word: kleenexes
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...Then the war finished and almost overnight everything had gone American in Europe. How did it happen? I really don't know. But there I was, walking the streets and seeing America everywhere: shops full of nylon products, American toothpaste, American combs, Kleenex, candies, everything gaily coloured and smartly wrapped up. The newsstands were full of American papers, a Sunday edition about as big as a hundred European newspapers rolled into one, gay comics put up with clothespegs, stacks of magazines, stacks of books. I looked everywhere for an English magazine and found, tucked away in a corner...
...evening last October Yvette went to a cocktail party near Frankfurt with her husband, U.S. Air Force Lieutenant Andrew Madsen. They drank bourbon-and-Coke, played "Pass the Kleenex,"*and Yvette twitted her Georgia-born host, another U.S. officer, on his Dixie drawl. "O.K.," responded the airman good-naturedly, "how do you say it in Brook-lynese?" Sensitive Yvette slapped the joker full in the face and demanded that her husband take her home immediately. Andy Madsen, a Californian, was too busy laughing to pay much attention. He tossed her the keys to the family car, and Yvette stormed...
...favorite Frankfurt party icebreaker in which a man & woman kneel face to face. One crumples a sheet of Kleenex into a ball and holds it between his (or her) chin and shoulder and attempts to transfer it without the use of hands to a corresponding position on a player of the opposite sex. Only ironical rule in this organized nuzzling: participating couples must not be man & wife...
...particularly bad in Italy--the lira is a mere fiftieth of its prewar value. American wallets were much too small for the wads of paper money they had to hold. The thousand lire note, worth about $1.75 this summer, was the size and consistency of a large piece of Kleenex...
...thesis of the Lampoon's high command that their journal is published purely for the amusement of themselves, their minions, and those of their friends who share their exact estimate of what is funny. This would be a valid argument if the Lampoon were typed on Kleenex and passed fraternally from hand to hand. However, the Lampoon is a bona fide publication, "Copyrighted . . . entered at the Boston Post Office," and engaged in selling advertising space to merchants who presumably expect to reach more people than are usually gathered in the Great Hall of the aviary...