There I Was…
by Richard Miller
There I was, there I was, there, I, was, in the shopping mall, or is that maul (m-a-u-l). One of the last bastions of vulgar, grotesque, materialism and greed. Oh sure, we need stuff, I would prefer to make the determination myself and not be TOLD, subliminally or otherwise, that I need whatever THEY are trying to ram down my throat. And so…
There I was, there I was, there, I, was, making my way through the chic, trendy and quite fashionable department store. It’s name isn’t important. They’re all the same, aren’t they? I mean, when you REALLY get right down to it. So, there I walked, passing the clown-faced whores behind the Clinique counter. Oh, how do I know they’re whores? Let’s just say that they’ve taken more dick than you’ll find at a Richard convention. At any rate, passing the cosmetics corral, I ran smack dab (and I hate having my dab smacked, it’s so profane) into a gauntlet of perfume girls, atomizers at present arms, preparing to barrage me with the latest toilet water from this week’s designer. At my approach, they stood ready, trigger fingers quivering with anticipation. The first one pounced, “Sir would you like…” I parried the attack by cutting her off in mid sentence, “You spray me and you’ll be very sorry you were ever born.” Suddenly, they scattered in a pre-rehearsed evasion maneuver shrieking their battle cry, “Have a nice day.” Pity, I didn’t even get to grapple her by the throat. So,…
There I was, there I was, there, I, was, in men’s fine haberdashery. All I wanted was a fucking suit. Unfortunately, it seemed that the pea brained sales associate couldn’t comprehend that an artist and poet of my caliber and visage would require such an oppressive mode of raiment. His thoughtfulness was underwhelming. I browsed, under the ever-watchful eye of security’s loss prevention buffoon. Once convinced, in it’s addled mind, that I wasn’t intent on looting and pillaging, it vanished. I waited. I browsed. I waited and browsed. My friendly sales associate was a man of great incuriousness and consequently, decided that I was best left to my own devices. Growing impatient I decided to select a suit for myself. Upon removing a garment from the rack, magically out of thin air, not one but two sales associates appeared. Hey, neat trick. I tried it again to summon two more but nothing happened. My sales genie were much younger than the atrophied imbecile initially encountered and much more attractive aesthetically. Like Gemini, the twins, my sales genie were a cutesy pair consisting of a young stylish gay guy and an amorous teenage girl. Suddenly the thought crossed my mind, “I was killed on the way over here and obviously, I was damned to hell.” The girl genie spoke, “Oh my gawd, that suit isn’t you.” “Excuse me,” I responded. “She’s right ya know,” her male counterpart injected. “Explain,” I demanded. They looked at each other as if they were in deep trouble with an authority figure. They were, Me. They spoke in unison, “have you tried young men’s apparel?” “If I wanted young men’s apparel I would have gone there myself,” I snarled, sneering savagely. “Oh,” they responded. Quickly, they regrouped. “Do you know your size?” the male inquired. “Ugh,” was all I could reply before the girl genie bubbled over, “We had better measure you!” Definitely, dead and in hell. With military snap the gay guy produced a tape-measure and fell to his knees before me. A sudden uneasy feeling of anxiety fell over me as the tape-measure snaked it’s way up the inside of my thigh. From behind, the girl genie wrapped a tape measure around my waist, then around my chest. “Do you break to the left or the right?” genie boy asked form my crotch. Great, genie girl is violating me from behind and while genie boy wants to know how my cock lays. In hell, definitely in hell. So,…
There I was, there I was, there, I, was…
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