Sketchy Guy Who Works at the Adult Bookstore says:
I finished my shift at the Store and went to my neighborhood dive bar for a drink or five, just to shake off the existential dread of my last customer. The guy looked in his fifties, but a hard life can make people older quicker, and what was left of his voice didn't come from less than three packs of smokes a day...
He told me he was Having Problems Down There, which I really appreciated him sharing, because I am sincerely interested in the lives of the depressed and disheveled people coming in to buy porn. Please, tell me more about how That Bitch Was A Whore And Stole Your Money, Shoes, And Dental Bridge. Tell me more about The Tiny Snails You Are Now Finding In Your Freshly-Ejaculated Semen...
So the Guy Having Problems Down There sees the prison tattoos on my neck, and tells me he was in prison, too. He was Innocent, of course: that eight-year-old girl lied about him, and if he had known that she was going to lie about him he would've been better off strangling her in the woods when he had the chance, ha ha. Making this worse was that he looked at me like he believed I would totally sympathize with what he was saying: dude, I was in prison for NORMAL crimes, not THAT fucked-up shit...
He then asks me if we have any porn where there are legal-age eighteen-year-old girls who REALLY, REALLY look like they are seven or eight. I told him he can go check out the 'Lolitas and Lollipops' section, but I knew he was going to be disappointed: anything legal is NOT going to rub that spot he so wants rubbed...
Of course, he comes back empty-handed, and I knew what he was thinking: I was in prison, and now I work at a seedy Porn Shop -- of COURSE I must know where to score some real raw underage porn. So I told him that, shhhhh, I DO have some secret stash you'll really like, just follow me to the back, where I then pushed him out on his ass into the alley and kicked the living shit out of him by the dumpster.
Except I didn't do that: I just shook my head and he left the store with the same buzzing insects in his head that he came in with. A crime isn't a crime until it's a crime: that's something one of my defense attorneys had told me, right before I lost my case and went to prison. Maybe that's wisdom, maybe that's not: I think my defense attorney was drunk at the time...
I am Laslo.
No comments:
Post a Comment