Wal-Mart…Where The Mentally Retarded Go To Fuck.

Had to go get an oil change today.  Never an enjoyable affair as, in an effort to save 10 bucks, I always go to the local Wal-Mart Supercenter.  While it is quite super (at least that’s what they tell me) it is also an asswhip of epic proportion.  If it’s not the constant run-ins with the socially inept and awkward, it’s a 700 pound man in a motorized cart who manages to be in your way regardless the aisle to find yourself shopping, or some loudmouth redneck child screeching about not getting the toy they “need”, or a group of cocky, bastard teenagers shopping for school supplies.  I NEVER have a good Wal-Mart experience.  EVER.

Today, while I waited for my oil change, I was made privy to the fact that Lawrence is still in the Pen for punching out his girlfriend.  I was told that “Mama ain’t watchin’ them kids no moe cuz she crazy.”  No, I wasn’t getting to know a new friend.  Nope.  I simply had no escape from the conversation the MASSIVE black woman was having on her cell phone as I tried (quite in vain) to tune her out and read a fantasy football magazine.  I was near death when the good Lord saw fit to send her elsewhere (Sporting Goods).  I could still hear her but at the very least, it was faint enough I was able to ignore it all.

So, there I sat.  Reading my magazine.  Not looking at anyone.  Not speaking to anyone.  READING MY MAGAZINE.  “Hey man, you got 50 cents?” READING MY MAGAZINE.  “Buddy, can I borrow 50 cents?”  I look up and realize a giant rat in windshorts(!) is talking to me.  “Borrow?”, I ask.  “When would you be repaying the 50 cents?”  He has no reply.  I go back to my magazine.

Still waiting on that oil change.  Still reading my magazine.  Still wearing blinders.  In walks a 400 year old pale white man in dark sunglasses, massive white beard, baseball hat, very ashy legs.  He sits across from me…and promptly TAKES HIS SHIRT OFF AND BEGINS TO CLEAN HIS SUNGLASSES!  what the fuck?  WHAT THE FUCK?!?!  20 seconds in, an old lady comes in and tells him to put his shirt back on and to ’sit still’.  The rat-like man in the windshorts asks the old man for a dollar.  The man gives him the dollar.  The rat man buys a Coke.  Old man tells him to give him back the change.  Ratman does so, VERY RELUCTANTLY.

Mercifully, my car is done.  I pay and leave, doubletiming it out the door.  I curse Wal-Mart.  I curse the Heavens.  I curse myself and my need to save 10$. 

Damn me.    Damn me.

Big Dead Clown Shoes

My sister just sent me an article on the recent death of Larry Harmon, aka Bozo the Clown.  Now, while he was not the original Bozo, he was the biggest of the bunch, creating the classic look, even going so far as to purchase the rights to the character and licensing it out to TV stations all over the world. 

My sister and I used to sit an watch one of the shows he licensed the Bozo rights to, The Bozo Show on WGN out of Chicago, and dream of being on the Grand Prize Game.  If you never saw it, first of all…what the fuck is wrong with you?  Second of all, are you a commie bastard?  Anyway, the Grand Prize Game was a series of buckets lined up one in front of the other w/ the object of the game being to toss a ping pong ball into each bucket, winning prizes along the way.  The prizes were pretty decent, especially when you consider we’re talking about the early to mid 80’s here.  They’d start you off with maybe a model airplane or some sort of an action figure then progress into cooler shit like a years supply of Archway Cookies (every member of the audience would get a package of cookies as well) and, if you managed to get the ping pong ball in the last bucket, a Schwinn Bicycle and 50$ bill.  Always used to piss me off cuz I knew I could win that fuckin’ game but, alas I never got the chance.  When I asked my mom if we could go she told me she’d already called them and it was a 10 year wait for tickets.  That had to be a lie.  It had to be.  Having never played the Grand Prize Game is one of my great regrets in life.

So why not haphazardly smear on a little red lipstick, put on a big, red nose, toss a little confetti around the room, and pay proper tribute to the greatest clown of all time?  Why not?

Why not?

It’s not like you don’t have all that shit just lying around the house anyway.  I know how you are.  Fuckin’ freak. 

But I don’t judge.

Kinky freak.

Looks like he’s getting ready to unhinge his jaw and swallow the kid.

What A Girl Wants.

Sometimes it’s all you can do to keep from diluting a little napalm into a windex bottle and spraying small children in the face with it. 

Was offered a job today…not gonna take it but it was nice to be offered.  12$/hr to drive to Dallas…no thanks.  Didn’t do a damn thing ‘cept hide in the back room today and take care of my own section work.  Felt good to not entertain for the day.  Sometimes the jokes take more out of you than most folks realize.  Jesus, that store would be boring if I left.  No offense intended to the other folks at the gig…many of them are good goods.  But George Carlin just died and with him out of the way I’m having trouble thinking of anyone still alive who’s funnier than me.  Dane Cook?  Please.  Denis Leary?  He hasn’t been funny in 15 years.

I wish I could go get some indian food right now.  McKinney needs a 24 hour indian joint.  That would massage my sack to death right about now.

The Greatest Product Name EVER.

Ummmm…

The greatest product ever?

How can you not possibly want to go out and buy some of this shit…if for no other reason than to simply have a bottle of this mess on display in your home?

Dammit.

I’m in love. I wish my ass itched a lot.