This is why People Shop Online

Dear Larry,

Dude. I never would have done that to you.

Seriously.

I could have just minded my own business, you know. I could have just kept on walking. But you kept calling to me, from over by the polo shirts. "C'mere man, help a brother out." And you were in a jam, for sure. I walked past like four times, and every time, I felt your pain. I can't imagine being in that position, and not being able to move or speak or ask anyone for help. But I could tell you were asking me. It was some kind of mannequin/human mental connection we made, and I knew I was the one who had to help you.

And you set me up. All I asked was "Is anybody looking?" And I know you couldn't nod or blink or mumble anything, but dude, mentally, I could tell you were saying the coast was clear.

And the coast wasn't clear, was it Larry?

You, Larry, are a filthy liar. A filthy mannequin who lies, mentally, with his thoughts, in my head. Mentally. To me.

Liar.

Screw you, Larry,
Ryan B.

A note to my readers: If you see a mannequin with his pants around his ankles, the minute you pull them up for him, someone will see you and assume you were the one who pulled them down in the first place. You might even think you overheard her telling a coworker that she saw it happen, which she did not. Because she too is a filthy liar, just like Larry the stupid mannequin.