The Demon Dildo Monger of Christopher Street 

In this ongoing diary of a frustrated sex-store counterwoman, it would appear L.B. Wilkenson is starting to lose her shit.

As the summer months descend on us, so do the nuisances.

Stoners think it’s high-larious to pretend they’re surfing on the Monkey Rocker. Drunk people don’t want to buy anything, they just want to touch and fondle everything. They want to tear open packages and render them unsaleable. They want to shove the display dildos down the front of their pants and pretend they have huge boners. But that, sirs, is a privilege reserved only for employees (read: ME).

As it gets warmer out, theft increases. Do you know how embarrassing it is, for both parties involved, to catch someone stealing dozens of condoms? You want to tell them to reevaluate their life choices, but then you realize — you’re not one to talk.

The summer also brings an increase in customers who are just rude. When people spend a lot of money they think it means they can talk to me any way they want to. But you know what? Fuck you, 'cause you can't.

Specifically, I'm talking to the obese jerk who came in four days ago, wearing a stretched-to-capacity polyester suit. The one who kept asking me questions just to interrupt my answers with ridicule and belittlements. I hate you, you goddamn mouth-breather. I can't wait for your heart to finally give in to the pressure you're putting it under.

So yeah, what I'm saying is, in the summer I find myself at my most bloodthirsty.

I’m blaming the customers and the heat, but mostly it’s my problem: I’m frustrated because I want to be writing books, not slinging dildos. So this week I'm taking a mini-vacation, because I can tell I've been in an intolerably bad mood lately. I’m laying low, writing in coffee shops and trying to focus on getting my blood pressure down.

While sitting alone with my coffee and my laptop, my favorite recession cliché to overhear is, "Well, maybe getting fired was good for me, you know? It'll give me more time to work on my screenplay."

Screenplay… why not, right? Jonny didn't give me any real parameters regarding what I can and can't do as a guest blogger, [Ed. Uh, yes I did.] so here is an excerpt from my upcoming youtube viral hit, Angels & Dildos (uh, that’s a working title).

INT. THE PLEASURE CHEST BASEMENT - NIGHT
Blonde, petite, tattooed LUCY is in the basement organizing vibrators on a low shelf. She hears a noise, stops.

LUCY
Hello?

Thinking it is her imagination she continues her work. Suddenly, a gloved hand swings down through a shaft of fluorescent light and plunges a Beehive vibrator in her chest [really, she’s holding it up in her armpit]. As Lucy screams and curses her assailant, we pan out to see THE KILLER standing above her, face obscured by shadows, fingers steepled. THE KILLER leans down, rips a necklace from her throat and holds it up. The charm, a golden penis, glitters. THE KILLER slides the charm’s foreskin back to reveal that it is actually a key.

LUCY
You’ll never get away with this! They’ll stop you!

THE KILLER
(curling a lock of her hair around a finger)
That’s where you’re wrong, my lovely. The vilest secret of our organization will die with you.

THE KILLER retreats into the waiting evening.

END SCENE

Truthfully I haven’t figured out much of the plot beyond this scene, but the killer will likely be our Assistant Manager, Brandon B. Sure, he looks innocent enough, but to quote Bart Simpson, he’s like a Milk Dud. Sweet on the outside, poison on the inside.

Comments (2)

Showing 1-2 of 2

Add a comment

 
Subscribe to this thread:
Showing 1-2 of 2

Add a comment

Latest in Features

© 2014 The L Magazine
Website powered by Foundation