Some mysterious life-substance or force the doctors haven't pinned down yet, you say—and that's as good a definition as any.
Well, we're maple trees to the slizzers, and that life-stuff is the sap we supply them. They do it mostly when we're feeling good—feeling really terrific. It's easier to tap us that way, and there's more to be had. (Maybe that's what makes so-called manic-depressives ... they attract slizzers when they feel tip-top; the slizzers feed; and floo-o-m ... depressive.)
Like I say, think about all this next time someone treats you just ginger-peachy, and makes you feel all warm inside.
So see how long that feeling lasts ... and who is hanging around you at the time. Experiment. See if it doesn't happen again and again with the same people, and if you don't usually end up wondering where in hell your nice warm feeling went off to....
found out about the slizzers when I went up to Joe Arnold's apartment last Friday night.
Joe opened the door and let me in. He flashed me his big junior-exec's grin and said, "Sit, Jerry. I'll mix you a gin and. The others'll be along in awhile and we can get the action started."
I sat down in my usual chair. Joe had already fixed up the table ... green felt top, ashtrays, coasters, cards, chips. I said, "If Mel—that's his name, isn't it, the new guy?—if he starts calling wild games again when it comes his deal, I'll walk out. I don't like 'em." I looked at the drink Joe was mixing. "More gin."
Joe crimped half a lime into the glass. "He won't call any crazy stuff tonight. I told him that if he did, we wouldn't invite him back. He nearly ruined the whole session, didn't he?"