Hang 'em!

Hang 'em!

So, the word across town goes, Closetalk has decided to hang up the slut stilletoes.

Ok, you don't have to gape quite that much.

CT walks into a crowded room, wearing padded slippers. Holds up sparkling, glittering heels. Fiddles with microphone, and then harrumphs. Once, twice, not thrice.

CT: "Ladies and gentlemen of the press...."

(hushed response)

CT: "Here they are...."

(hushER response?)

CT: "The rumours you heard were true...."

(somebody faints, somebody titters)

CT: "The slut shoes are gone!"

(collective gasp, scribes write furiously, flashbulbs pop)

CT: "I've decided to move on with my life..."

scribe 1: "CT, what led up to this.... catastrophe?!"

CT: "Dear, dear, dear, dear, dear scribe 1.... I choose to think of this as a transition... I'm merely changing my shoes here." (shows padded slippers - very unsexy!)

scribe 2: "CT, what advice do you have for all the novice sluts out there... the ones who've looked up to you, and revered you, and worshipped you, and.... ?"

CT (smiles, and waves, and laughs): "They can still revere me and worship me, silly!"

(room dissolves into chuckles, as heads nod at Closetalk's superior intellect.)

scribe 3: "So what will you do now, CT?"

CT pauses. Looks heavenwards for inspiration, then hellwards, and finally looks at scribe 3.

CT: "I'm going to wait..."