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Zine-o-File 

From the pages of Stay Free! ¥ Issue #15 (P.O. Box 306, Prince Street Station, New York, NY 10012; $3)

Excerpts from:

My Very Special Trip to the Nike Store

By David Cross

David Cross is the bald, Jewish one

on HBO's Mr. Show.

There's a little mom and pop store where I live (the quaint hamlet of Hollywood, California) that gives away free shoes. It's true! It's called the Nike store, and they'll give you free clothing...well, not you, but me. Now, I've got plenty of money. I do not need free shoes, and hopefully never will. Still, I went to the Nike store. In fact, I called them and arranged an appointment. And it wasn't for research purposes. When it comes right down to it, I just wanted the free shit.

I called the nice lady (who shall remain referred to as "The Nice Lady," 'cause she was) whose sole job is to corral a seemingly never-ending stream of real-life, honest-to-gosh celebrities through the maze of logo-embossed Nike swag. I told her who I was, and what I did. It turned out that I had the potential to show up on a television set occasionally. And that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is the only criteria for getting free clothing and accessories, hand-spun by the gnarled, malnourished, immature hands of children unfortunate enough to be born into a poverty-stricken country whose government's ethics jibe perfectly with our government's. But I digress.

I was escorted (or es- "courted," ha-ha!) around the showroom by the nice lady. She walked around pointing out various shoes here, or a sweatshirt there, and would say, "This is nice. What about this?" My response became limited to a few "yeahs" or "sures," all the while stocking up for the impending race war with enough Nike clothing to keep myself in black-market-bartered fresh water and ammo to last until the New Republic of Unimerica was recognized by the "Jew World Order."

I turned down very little. I remember being suddenly honest when presented with a couple of turtlenecks with the Nike Swoosh prominently displayed on the turtle of the neck part. "I wouldn't ever wear those, no thanks....Oh, okay." I got the feeling that not too many people turned stuff down. Would Shaq have taken them? (Note to self: Call Shaquille O'Neal--ask about Nike turtleneck.) Well, the end result of all this was not only walking out of there with a new friend, someone that I will forever more refer to as a "nice lady," but with bags of clothing that, as of this day, are scattered about the United States in various Goodwills, ex-girlfriends' closets, and on the feet of several Mr. Show staffers.

Send zines to the Zine-o-File, Chicago Reader, 11 E. Illinois, Chicago 60611.

Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): zine cover.

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