So I'm in this shop trying hard to buy some clothes, only it's all that unisex shit so I'm getting a little sidetracked. I keep thinking that unisex stuff is for the SNAG type of guy with a girly name who appears in commericials advertising toothpaste & expensive watches and what I *REALLY* want is the sort of clothes that a tough guy with a tough name like KARL or STICK who owns a 4 by 4 and runs people down in it as a hobby wears.

But unfortunately I'm a part of the in-crowd (or at least trying to be at the moment) so I have to lift my game completely and wear the crap to score. Anyway, I'm wandering through the isles, and slip-me-one-up-the-date if they don't have a mens and women's section. "That's because it's a uni- sex shop" you say. To which I only have two responses, 1. Fuck you, & 2. If it were really unisex, they wouldn't have skirts.

So anyway, I've been wandering around for *AGES* trying to find something that even looks like stuff a guy would wear, and it's still all a complete bloody mystery to me. And there's no helpful photos on the wall showing a guy wearing anything like this either, it's all those crap "abstract" paintings which probably cost about 10K a peice and look like they were done by a 3 year old stuck in it's anal stage. Nothing that couldn't be sorted out with a liberal dose of KV across the artists testicles I believe.

So anyway, it's been hours now, and I had to stop for lunch; the staff are sick to death of hearing "Just Looking" from me; when a sweet young thing of my favourite persuasion walks into the store. Quick as a flash, I have 47 items in my hand and am making a play.

I step up to the counter and loudly announce "This should be enough for the winter wardrobe" gesturing at my pile. All eyes in the shop are on me and the sexy babe knows I'm a cool bastard. Not only cool, but rich - as is typical of these stores, they buy it all at a charity store, add a zero on to the price and sell it themselves.

But who gives a shit when hot, panting, nun-hated sex is breating up your trouser leg.

So I'm cool at the counter, & figure I'll turn up the heat by getting some of this gear on and toothpaste-commercial it around the shop for a while. "Do you have a fitting room?" I ask.

The braindead counter jockey looks over at me, sees sexy-babe and just *HAS* to stuff me up. It's her job. You know, the one that's always saying "Well the colour isn't really you..." then snickering behind her hand when you're just about out of earshot, but she knows you can still hear her.

"Ah, excuse me sir" she says loudly "but did you realise that there are 3 skirts in that pile of clothing?"

The bitch!

"I knew that" I say. "As a matter of fact, i *PREFER* skirts for their airy nature. Being a Sensitive New-Age Guy, I find that wearing a skirt makes me more aware of my female compatriots, and less likely to regress into the male, ape-like personification one finds inbred into society today."

Eat that!

"Very well, sir - But the colour's not you.... >snicker<"

Sexy-babe has eaten all this up, and is a sure thing. She'll probably ask *ME* out in gratitude for womenkind. I *LOVE* this shit. As I pass her, I avert my eyes in Super-Sensitive mode, and she can't resist a quick empathise.

"Ah, excuse me" she prompts.

I look up in a wimpy, non-challenging way, saying nothing.

"I couldn't help overhearing. Is it true you prefer wearing skirts?"

And now for the kill.

"Why yes. I find that I'm so much more in touch with the suffragette-like struggle of women in every-day life" By now I'm deep in crap country and couldn't dig myself out with an earthmover and Hoffa's funeral crew.

"I think that's just so wonderful" she gushes, hooked & lined. (Never Fails; it's the maternal instinct - I'm sure of it..)

Now for the reeling in.

"Do you? Would you mind... No, I couldn't" I murmur indecisively

"What what?" she cries, willing to give all for the cause.

"Well, I was just going to ask for your advice - I'm not sure which of these two skirts would look best on me, I find that some pastels clash with my skin-tone. Would you mind just coming nearer to the changing rooms and telling me which you feel is best?"

"Why sure!"


She comes over allowing me to get into slime mode, which isn't the fruit you eat in rogue either.

"OH!" I say in mock surprise "I suppose I should introduce myself, my name is... ...uh... >think-watch-commerical< ..Ray.... ...with an E - RAE."

She eats it up.

We get talking on the way, and I've almost talked her into a lifetime of casual sex on an hourly basis but I have to drive that last nail in to be sure. I slip into the changing rooms and pop one of the skirts on and slip back out into the changing area. I stay in the hallway, because there's only so far you'll go for the best sex of your life.

She comes over in admiration, just as one of my mates slides out of one of the other changing rooms. He spots me, and immediately I know I'm never going to be in the same lift as him again and that my circle of friends is going to decrease dramatically as soon as he can get to a phone.

"Nice skirt mate - but the colour's not really you...... >snicker<"

"He prefers wearing skirts!" Sex-Babe chips in, closing off any form of retreat.

"Yeah, doesn't surprise me - we always had him pegged for a poofta..."

So after the police get there and cart me away from his bleeding corpse and sexy-chick has told everyone in the neighbourhood (including the police psychologist, Doctor Shock) about the skirt thing, things start looking a bit grim.

But what the hell, at least they let me get my Jeans back on before they throw me in the holding cell....