The Story of "Zipperhead"

Before YEWofOstinks leaks the story or tells OA, who will surely leak the story, I have decided to tell you the story of "Zipperhead" even though I still cannot quite believe it myself.

Note:  The views and thoughts of Believer Tim do not necessarily reflect the views of or The Insiders.  Parental discretion is advised.   

It was Friday, November 22nd, Civil War eve. I had come home from work and slammed a couple of cold ones, anticipating a great weekend of tailgating, football and a continuation of Beaver domination at home in Reser. My wife had not yet arrived home from her office so the shopping for the tailgater was on standby while I waited for her, cracking cold one after cold one and perusing the board here at
Finally my bride strode through the door and after a suitable relaxation period for her, it was time for us to head to Fred Meyer for the Saturday necessities. 

As we arrived in the parking lot, it became very apparent to me that before I could even think about what we were going to buy for our tailgater, I needed to pay a visit to the latrine to rid myself of six or seven beers. 

Those of you that shop at Freddy's and occasionally need to use the restroom already know that they aren't the cleanest in town. One usually is pretty preoccupied with getting in, getting business done, washing your hands and getting back out, touching as few items as possible in the process, ESPECIALLY the door handle.  

I took care of things and exited to begin the process of finding Sarah and getting the shopping out of the way. I found her on the meat aisle admiring a couple of nice looking Rib Eye steaks. We grabbed the steaks, threw them in the cart and as we rounded the corner for the next aisle I heard someone say hello to me. I turned around to see where the voice was coming from and saw a guy named Chuck that I went to grade school and high school with. 

Let me tell you a little something about Chuck. First of all, I found out he now goes by Chas. Chuck was the strange kid in school. While all the other boys, myself included, would be out on the playground tossing around a football or baseball, Chuck would be going around pretending he was Barbara Eden in "I Dream of Jeannie". He'd walk up to us and say, "Disaster, disaster will you be my master?". He'd then fold his arms like Jeannie did and blink hard like he had just cast a spell. Weird huh? That was Chuck, the grade school years.  

Throughout high school it became pretty apparent to all of us that Chuck swung from the other side of the plate from the rest of us and whenever he talked in class, he lisped BADLY. If there was ever a stereotype for gay, Chuck was it. Flaming barely covered it. Chuck is the poster boy for gay. He's the QUEEN of gay. We're not talking Gay Lite here, we're talking FULL-BLOWN gay. 

And now here he was, with his latest boyfriend, standing in front of me in the Fred Meyer and I'm trying my damnedest not to look too uncomfortable. He's asking all kinds of questions about what I've been doing and things like that and I'm politely answering them and trying to think of questions to ask him besides,"How in the hell can you stand having something rammed up your tailpipe?"

Eventually I am able to break free of the conversation and find my wife to finish the shopping but it seems that every time I turn down an aisle with her, there he is with his boyfriend and I am forced to smile and nod. My wife asks me about him and why I was talking to him and I tell her who he is and jokingly remark that, "Maybe talking to him will ease my homophobia, whatever the hell that is." And we spend another 20 minutes or so finishing up our shopping. 

As we enter the checkout line my wife gets very wide-eyed and says to me, "Ummm, I think I know why those two were following us around the store." I ask why. "Look down." She says, which I do and to my horror, realize that from the time I left the men's room I had been walking around the store with my zipper COMPLETELY down, exposing the fruit of the looms and everything protruding from beneath them. In my haste to get out of the bathroom I had committed an egregious error and now had two gays following us around the store.  

I am now in complete shock and my wife, who finds this very amusing, leans over to me and quips, "Way to go "Zipperhead" and I am too dumbfounded to respond. All the way home I am hearing the word "Zipperhead". All the way to Corvallis the next day I am hearing the word "Zipperhead" and as my wife regales everyone at the tailgater and "Zipperhead" now becomes a part of ‘Stinks' vocabulary and I am subjected to the obligatory ‘trolling' jokes, I begin to wonder why if I was going to do something stupid, why couldn't I have just forgotten the freaking tickets again???

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