Monday, June 20, 2005


Strolling down U St. yesterday afternoon, Kriston and I passed by the grime-covered, dilapidated storefront of Exotic Pleasures—a depressing, lurid establishment that seems to have weathered a great deal, but never a customer.

K: Guh, how does that place stay in business?

Me: I know. Who would want to fulfill their pleasures there?

K: Wasn't there one of those by your old house in Austin? It was all hip, and...

Me: ...earthy, and "Oooh, I'm so comfortable with my sexuality." [pause] Although, I imagine it would be strange to have an exotic pleasures store that was not comfortable with sexuality.

K: That would be pretty great. A repressed sex shop.

Me: Yeah, your toy could come with flagellation devices so you could go "Oh God, I hate myself!"

K: And the videos they sell would just show a man and a woman sitting on a bed, and him going "I swear this never happens."

Me: And she's all, "Oh, it's really okay! It's normal!"

K: And then that's the end.

Me: The name of the store could be: Crying While Masturbating. For Catholics.


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