MISS HIGH HEEL
Split Wax Cylinder, Inscribed: Beast 661
The distressed crippling of a spoon caught in the insinkerator rattles a Japanese dishwasher into sticking his hand in the hole to retrieve it. A bloody thrash of screaming bone and stainless steel ensues, and our hapless minimum-wager screams the scream of a hundred Shogun warriors. The cooks demonstrate their love of the carnage by bashing and banging their pots and pans with their metal ladles. Enter the clumsy waiter who slips carrying a tray full of empty dishes. The shrill clanging of the fallen china casts a shockwave that shatters every wine glass within the resturaunt. Screaming patrons run for the exit doors with Merlot and horror staining their faces. Out front a neon-pink sign flickers the words "Miss High Heel". Taped to the front window, is a smaller, more revealing sign that reads: HELP WANTED.

Steve Brydges, Pok, 12/98