|"You wanna slip it in my WHAT?!?!"|
You say you don't want it
You don't want it
Say you don't want it
Then you slip it on in
~ Black Flag
I haven’t been seeing much of my Teenage Fan Club lately. I can attribute this only to the fact that the reception they get when I am not in the shop is not exactly warm. As in, it’s cold. Frosty. FREEZING.
Apparently, I’m the only one who thinks watching prepubescent teenage boys wrestle is funny. To each his own, I guess.
I was so pleased when they finally deigned to grace us with a visit, one busy Saturday morning. The shop was pretty packed, but I hadn’t seen the Teenage Fan Club in ages, and so studiously ignored all the paying customers who wished to make actual appointments with their real money, and greeted my boys instead.
“Hi guys,” I grinned and waved from behind the reception desk.
They didn’t answer, just stood stoically still, looking anywhere but directly at me.
Hmmmmm. Something was up.
“What’s going on, guys?” I prompted, as a rough-and-tough biker guy cleared his throat impatiently and waved a stack of twenties in my face. I smiled brightly at him, then turned back to the Teenage Fan Club.
They were still standing in the doorway of the shop, pressed tightly together and clearing their throats in a loud and obnoxious fashion, then nodding their heads in what I finally figured out to be the direction of the Muslim kid’s crotch.
When I finally looked down, a cheer erupted from the entire store, as if my IQ had finally caught up a whole two minutes after everyone else’s. The Teenage Fan Club burst into giggles and started high fiving each other, yelling “We got her! We got her!”
And this is why I love my Teenage Fan Club.
|Apparently they found the panties on the |
ground in the parking lot.
I really need to talk to these guys,
establish some ground rules.