Lonely London Lad: "The Needlessly Sexualized Tale of the Lonely Medium-Sized Purple Art Shirt"
Once upon a time, in the dungeon of LLL's English opulent manor house, beneath the parquet floors upon which scores of fans have slept, there was a cavernous room filled with sherry from 1786, and Grand Cru wine from the years preceding the phylloxera infestations.
But I'm not talking about that room. I only mentioned that to impress certain people.
I'm talking about another room, in which were kept piles and piles of LLL art shirts, neatly stacked on racks and attended to by a handsome French woman who had once curated the showrooms of Yves Saint Laurent.
So, enough name dropping.
Each stack consisted of art shirts separated by color and size. There were perfectly vertical columns of asphalt, slate gray, psychedelic purple, pink, fuchsia, and white.
But one column was strangely short in stature. At first glance, it appeared to accomodate no shirt at all. But at second glance, with the help of a torch passed to you by Madame, you could spy a single psychedelic purple shirt, size Medium, shivering in the climate-controlled-but-nonetheless-chilly 58 degree micro-atmosphere of the storeroom.
"Madame!" you exclaim, "Were you aware there was a lonely art shirt here, shivering in this climate-controlled-but-nonetheless-chilly storeroom?"
"Mais oui, Monsieur" (or "Madamoiselle", if you were born female or otherwise became female), she says. "But what can I do?"
"You can try to sell it, for the love of God!" you shout hysterically, your whiny voice echoing throughout the dungeon and making the Madame eye you quizzically, as if you have gone quite and utterly mad.
"But ze Lad did not order enough to meet ze demand," she says in something approximating a whisper, her eyes averting your hysterical gaze.
"Can he do nothing right?" you ask, feeling right superior.
"Well, a few things, I think," Madame says in my defense.
"Have you told him about this situation?"
"I have," Madame says.
"And? And? And?" you say, drawing closer to her with each utterance until she is backed against the wall.
"If you would kindly let me finish my sentence!" she says, outraged.
"Sorry," you mutter, and take a step backwards.
"He said he will write a blog about it."
You start screaming at her again, "Blogs do not sell art shirts! Art shirts sell art shirts!"
She tilts her head in the manner of a bewildered dog. "That makes no sense."
"You look strangely beautiful by this torchlight," you say, out of the blue.
"Why thank you," she says, and the two of you being kissing passionately, Madame's back against the wall, your hands wildly groping the soft art shirt fabric against her unisex body.
Then she pushes you away. "Why are we doing this?"
"Because LLL wrote this story. Otherwise I would not have any desire to kiss you. You're a handsome woman, but you are not beautiful."
"Same here," she says, brushing off the dust from her own Art Shirt, size Small. "You're a beautiful man, but you're not handsome at all."
You sigh... "So how are we going to find this medium Art Shirt a loving home?"
"Maybe one of us can buy it from the Lad. He offers free shipping, you know."
"I know, I know. Who doesn't know that? Free Shipping could be his middle name, for God's sake!" you begin yelling again. "But I'm just a character in a silly little story, and I have not been furnished with any money at all. I don't even have a wallet."
"The least he could have done was to give us some money."
"It's all about money for those musicians. Greedy, the whole lot of them! And what do we get? Nothing!"
"LLL is different."
"Of course you say that, he's writing your lines!" you scream.
"He's writing your lines, too. That is why this is so bizarre."
You take ten deep breaths, and say, "Maybe somebody reading this will buy the last medium purple Art Shirt, and maybe LLL will send them a signed copy of this story with the shirt."
"Now that's a brilliant idea," Madame says, and the two of you begin kissing passionately again, just because it's a convenient, and needlessly sexualized, way for me to end this tale of the lonely medium purple Art Shirt.
So if you are a purple afficionado, are medium in build, enjoyed this story, and want a signed copy of it to tell your grandchildren about, get zee to the nunnery and grab that shirt before someone else does! There (really) is only one left. Sorry mateys, a lucky chap named Seth just bought the shirt in our shop, and wins the signed story, too! Other sizes and colors still available, of course.
Bad Syllogism of the day: Sex sells. Art shirts sell. Therefore, sex art shirt. Huh??
- LLL
