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I was wandering past Saks (on 5th Avenue, oddly enough) two days ago when I found myself inexplicably stepping inside. I don't know what came over me, but it may have had something to do with the head blow described in my previous post. The old Bob would only have gone into Saks if his bladder was full to bursting or his bowels needed immediate emptying in the "Men's Lounge", but this strange new Bob ... apparently there has been a personality shift because there I was. ... Ground floor of Commerce Central, gateway to the land of the lost, Red Hell.
My eyes watered.
Perfumes. Mutants. The rubble of Babble.
Obsession. Envy. Compulsion. Euphoria. Opium. Romance. Ice. Heat. Radiance. Passion. Escape. Poison. Stalked youth. Plastic faces. Dead animals. Matrons wearing granddaughter clothes. The sticky ick of humanity adrift without a compass. Eternity. Seriously enthralling. Neato!
The stigmata on my unicorn nubbin oozed as I road the escalator up six flights to the men's department. I know because I watched the new Bob in the polished brass mirror wall, standing between a man in a cashmere overcoat below me and two 60+ women in matching Juicy Couture sweat suits above me. I don't know what the man's deal was. But I think the women were churning butter in their sweats.
But I didn't care. Euphoria. I was so looking forward to looking at suits, and shirts, and shiny black loafers.
There was a sale! I was gleeful ... full of glee (or something). I picked up a shirt that was 70 percent off -- Super sales price? $275. ...
People are idiots. But, I want to take this chance to thank Saks for setting me straight. I emptied my bowels -- it was a forced evacuation -- in the "Men's Lounge" and made a break for the street (5th Avenue, as it happens.).
Escape. Lovely. Rapture.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
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3 comments:
It was a message from the Divine.
All men must leave a permanent "marking" on where they have conquered. You, Sir have conquered the unimaginable....That makes my worst day look like a walk through an enchanted park while pixies shower me with tiny, soft candies and mermaids sing fairy-tale versions of Sebadoh songs as unicorns gently nuzzle my arm. You, are my hero...
i knew you would feel Saks subversive call someday. thank god for your unicorn heritage. the horn (even damaged) allowed you to enter, look, be appalled, poop, and leave. no complications, no compelsion to buy that $275 shirt. you are brave, my padewan.
as to your Strand post -- you really need to get the twit's job, perhaps stun him with your sarcasm, until he is immobilized and unable to work. you are better than him in oh so many ways. if nothing else you are (and I haven't seen the twit ) a more telegenic individual.
that last comment was not from the zo, but from lisa. i screwed up some part of the technology.
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