From a cardboard box in the rear of the shop she pulled long-ignored specimen and blew the worst of the cobwebs off, causing a minor dust storm. Beneath the dust, it appeared to be solid silver! "This one's a Morrissey. We used to do a roaring trade in these, couldn't get enough of them, but it seems to have dropped off completely now. It's doubly strange, because these days he has disappeared so far up his own arse
Don't read this message if you're of a delicate disposition. Please. No, really. Honestly, I don't want anyone to be offended. Oh go on then, bleedin' read it if you must. But don't blame me. During a brief constitutional in deepest, darkest Chelsea yesterday (bad part of town, you can't move for rugby-playing big beasts wanting to rough you up for not having been in the correct house at Eton or whatever) I passed an attractive little emporium and noticed a sign on the window saying 'Singers stools in stock now!' Well, as I'm sure you all know, a Singer's stool is a seat of adjustable height used by seamsters and seamstresses the world over. I have been after one for a little while, as it would be just the thing for the conservatory this summer. Anyway, I ventured within and asked to inspect the stools. "Whose are you interested in, sir?" asked the helpful Australian shop assistant. "I don't care who it used to belong to, just so long as it is of adjustable height and made from a wood which is not too dark, for if it is too dark then it will not suit the conservatory one little bit." "Sir, I think you misunderstand." She reached below the counter and pulled out a number of wooden plinths. Upon each sat what can only be described as a big, varnished turd. "These are the stools. I can't tell you where we get them from, I'm afraid," she went on "but each comes mounted as you see on a wooden plinth with an engraved plaque and a certificate of authenticity." Well, I have to tell you that after my initial revulsion I was intrigued. "Tell me," said I, "whose craps do you have in stock at the moment?" "Well," said she, "our current range includes a very nice Eric Clapton here, a vintage pre-conversion Bob Dylan, and a presentation box of 'Some Girls'-era Rolling Stones. These Elton Johns are surprisingly popular. People like to buy them for Mother's Day presents. Pink Floyd fans seem to have an insatiable appetite for any old shite turned out by Roger Waters." "Don't you have anyone a bit less...err...boring?" "Not to this standard, sir. But..." She grimaced and pulled a disgusting, liquid-filled carrier bag from under the counter. "This is one of the most solid Shaun Ryders we've ever had, but as you can see, it's still not much use. Oh, you might be interested in this..." that fecal memorabilia is almost impossible to obtain. "We're thinking of diversifying a little, getting a little more creative. We're doing a series of Posh Spice and David Beckhams weaved into a love knot. We're looking at developing a Whistler whistle. The problem is just that they're so difficult to hollow out, you know?" I nodded, although I must confess to you I have no clear idea about the difficulty or otherwise of the jobby hollowing process. "Do you have any Belle and Sebastian?" She looked a bit shocked. "Children and pets are against company policy, sir. We feel they attract the wrong kind of clientele." "No, I mean the popular Scottish beat combo." "Hmmm...I'm not sure. Are they good? What is their diet like?" I shrugged. "Oh they're probably vegetarians. They look like vegetarians. I heard the lead singer was once so disgusted by the thought of eating a plate of sausages that he started thinking his breakfast was talking to him." She scowled. "Vegetarianism, it's so bad for our trade. That Morrissey you have there," gesturing to the greying, dusty lump of human waste I cradled like a baby, "we had to chromium plate it because it was too soft to varnish. The quality of the actual pellet is vastly improved by a poor-quality, fibre-free diet. A 100% burger diet gives just the right consistency and, if treated with care, will retain its natural curvature beautifully. "Oh! Hold on! Belle and Sebastian?" she continued "aren't they that Gentle Waves splinter group?" "Err, well, kind of, I guess." "Now you're talking. Any kind of Gentle Waves excremental ephemera goes like hot cakes. Hot cakes! It's odd, though. About half of the customers who buy Gentle Waves samples bring them straight back, all abusive and swearing that they stink worse than that warm Gomez piss they sell in that caff next door. The others buy them as fast as we can source them. Say they're using them for air freshener. Say they make their room smell of the glorious waft of honeysuckle on a spring morning. Can't understand it myself. They're just grunties like anyone else's. They do buff up nicely, to be fair." I made my excuses and left. If I was going to buy P!O!P! dumps, I wasn't going to do it in this depressing, antiseptic environment. No! I was off post-haste to indie scumland where I could buy the real thing, pure and unvarnished. Where the person selling me the cack would be doing it for the love not for the profit, because they live and breathe pop pooh, to the point of dressing in it. And I had to re-think the decor in the conservatory. _________________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Get your free @yahoo.com address at http://mail.yahoo.com +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the reborn Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail "sinister@majordomo.net". To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to "majordomo@majordomo.net". WWW: http://www.majordomo.net/sinister +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "tech-heads and students" +-+ +-+ "the cardie wearing biscuit nibbling belle & sebastian list" +-+ +-+ "jelly-filled danishes" +-+ +----------------------------------------------------------------------+