From: richh@netcom.com (richh)
Subject: RICHH:  JUST GET THE HELL OUT, OKAY?
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Organization: Netcom - Online Communication Services  (408 241-9760 guest) 
Date: Wed, 7 Oct 1992 23:49:19 GMT

     Zipperhead's is a famous store here in Philadelphia.  The
store is on South Street, sell cools clothes and shoes, some
handcuffs and leather and stuff, and is a great place just to hang
out and watch people in.  
     Well, I'm in there for a reason yesterday:  Saltgirl, whom I
am meeting at a kinky sort of party this weekend, bought a bitchin
outfit she was telling me about, but couldn't find the wide shiny
belt she needed to really complete the ensemble.  No problem.  I
knew just the place.
     So I'm in there in the bondage-y section to your left as you
walk in and there's this ultra-cool woman behind the counter, who
has piercings in places well, that you wouldn't even find in a
second-hand _Gray's_(which, incidentally, you could buy, just up the
street, in Philly's largest used bookstore.  
     She's helping me look through the belts.
     "This one's nice..."
     "Motorcycle chains, eh?  A bit rough for this girl."
     "Ooh, how about this one?"  
     It's gorgeous.  Silver on black leather, extra wide, but it
looked way long.
     "It looks great, but I'm pretty sure it's too long."
     She tries it on herself.  "Fits me okay.  What's your
girlfriend's waist size?"
     "Um."  I hesitate. "27."
     "I hate you both.  Please leave."
     I laugh and she hangs up the belt.  "Now *here's* a beaut..."
     She pulls down this cool-looking thing that was made out of
large-diametered silver O-type rings connected to little leather
doo-dads that connected to smaller leather silver D-rings that
connected a wholemessa chains that connected to another D-ring etc
all the way around."
     "Can we measure it?  Looks great.  She'll plotz."
     Gets out a tape measure.  Shit.  32"  at the smallest hole.
     "Sorry," she said, about to put it back.
     "No, wait.  I know the guy who owns 'The Leather Rose'.  It's
on my way home.  I'll just have him take out one of the O-rings, a
doo-dad, and a set of chains.  How many inches will that take off?"
     She measures.  "About 5.  Perfect."
     "Cool.  And I'll come back and give what he takes out to you
for being so helpful for being so nice.   You could wear it through
your--
     Then he walks in.
     In *my* town.
     Into the coolest street in my town.
     Into the coolest store on the coolest street in my town.
     With his ditzy blonde wife and his stupid little entourage of
hangers-on.
     Yup, last night was the night Morton Downey Jr. did
Zipperhead's.
     Everyone in the store immediately recognizes him and we all
look at each other and shake our heads.  It's tough not to laugh at
the guy.  Real tough.  But wetry to be good.  And we watch them
walk through the store with this kind of disdainful mocking
'people-really-*buy*-this-stuff?' attitude that pisses us all off.  I'm
wearing a heavy leather riding jackets w/silver epaulets and little
cat-o-nine-tail fringes hanging from the zippers, so you just know
Mort wants *my* autograph.
     The woman behind the counter and I decide to fuck with them. 
We start talking about how good the Eagles looked crushing Dallas
on Monday, but ever so often raising our voices and shouting a
buzzword or two Morty's way.
     "Yeah, that was the best," I said.  "I can't believe I didn't
CAULKING GUN bet it."
     "Randall looked awesome FILLED WITH CREST & BEN-GAY?  A 60/40
MIX?"
     She's good, damn good.  "OF COURSE.  The offensive line was
amazing.  They were playing GAUZE PADS better than they actually
are."
     "I know what you mean.  Playing AND SOME BETADINE over their
heads.  ANAL SPECULUM."
     "MOLLY BOLT ENEMA.  And you know, Dallas made some key plays
too.  The Eagles just looked Super Bowl.  AND WE USED REVERSE-
THREADED SCREWS BECAUSE OF THE HEAVY VIBRATIONS."
     "YOU COULDN'T DAMPEN THEM?" she asked.
     "NOT UNDER Randall!  ROLLER COASTER YOU DON'T."
     "GUESS NOT."
     By this time, Mort and co. had seen enough.  As they passed us
to get out the door, we smiled at them and all we heard them say
was "Fucking freaks".
     It was the best.
 
RICHH
--cool town
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre