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Lake Stevens, Man About Town

This Just In!


By Lake Stevens, Man About Town
June 9, 2004

Kirstie, when she was hot The other afternoon I stopped by a West Hollywood Walgreens on my way home from my feng shui macrobiotic cooking class. I was surprised to see none other than screen legend and Veronica's Closet star, Kirstie Alley! Well of course I had to put my own shopping needs on immediate hold (the "wife" was complaining that she wasn't so errr...hmm err... "fresh." She lacked that running-on-the-beach-in-white-pants sort of feeling. You get the idea.). I followed Ms. Alley down the snack aisle.

Next to the bulging bags of Flamin' Hot Cheetos and Nutter Butters, she looked stunning in her subtle purple velour wrap and matching track suit. A wide brimmed hat perched on her head and dark glasses sat daintily on her nose completing the heavenly starlet look. She was like a flawless, large, glossy eggplant. She stopped quickly in front of the assortment of dried meat snacks, glanced left, then right, and -- before I could blink -- she darted back down the aisle in the other direction.

Kirstie, not so hot. Always game for a chase, I fell in place behind her and found myself face to face with the hygiene aisle, home to a bevvy of frightening and unfamiliar vinegar based products. It was like staring down the barrel of a loaded, aromatic, gun. I gulped hard, but I knew that I had to be strong -- thus are the sacrifices made in the name of journalism! I watched as Ms. Alley slowly danced down the aisle, absently touching a box of Kotex here, a package of Depends there. Her graceful hips kept time like a metronome. I was aghast when she stopped dead center in front of...now, loyal readers, please remember that I never exaggerate...the prophylactics and prophylactic accessories!

KY, Jelly of the gods Much to my shock and chagrin, Ms. Alley reached out for a package of - no, not Trojans or even female condoms - but for a bottle of KY Warming Liquid! Ms. Alley proceeded to open the bottle and squirt a generous dollop into her hand. She opened the elasticized waistband of her track suit (was it from the J. Lo line? I couldn't tell) and shoved the lubed hand down, down, deep between her ample thighs.

It was at this point that Ms. Alley turned and saw me gaping, slack jawed and frozen in my tracks. Her smile was practiced and instant as she explained, "It sometimes gets a little chaffed down there." Satisfied, she snapped her waistband back into place and wiped her hand clean on her poncho. I couldn't help but think that lube never comes out of velour, no matter how you scrub. I hoped she had club soda at home.

Needless to say, I could no longer be witness to atrocity. I propelled myself down the fluorescent aisles, past the vitamins, cigarettes and toilet tissues and back out into the safety of the gleaming West Hollywood sunshine. It was only on the drive home that I realized my own "wife" would have to endure another unfresh evening. In the name of fame, she would have to get by for one more day without running aside white horses on any picturesque beaches.

Next week...You will never guess who I saw carpet shopping!

-Lake Stevens, Man About Town
 
Copyright 2017 Daniel S. Fettinger and Lisa Warner, all rights reserved.