My day at Wal-mart: 31minutes, 27 seconds, lost forever.......Let's
go shopping, shall we.
A few years ago a store named Wal-mart came to Long Island,
New York. Our feeble little lives were so naive and empty without
hundreds of thousands of square feet of shopping gluttony.
Yep, ye olde Wal-mart has it all you punk bitch. Better recognize
and bitches better get it right. For real, just like Tony Montana
killed coke connects, Wal-mart killed small bussinesses everywhere.
They even took out some big ass kingpin called simply : K-mart,
whom for a while, ran shit. Alas those days are over kids. Wal-mart
is the single most profitable store
in our great nation. Why? How? Well the answer is not all that
simple. Or is it?
Everybody loves a bargain right? Quite simply, Wal-mart has
those in abundence. We're all lazy fucks right? Walmart has everything
under one roof. One stop shopping. There are condomns for me,
Trix for kids and tires for dad. Some stores boast gas stations,
entire food stores and most recently, car dealerships. It's almost
like a store you'd see in "The
Jetsons" as a kid.
It's the modern mecca of suburbia and it can't get more family
friendly.
It's almost scary how much stuff they sell at Wal-mart. They
got you covered. I do have two complaints though about them, that
really piss me off. 1. They only sell clean edited music, which
means no 2 Live Crew or Slayer. Yet, you can buy the latest ultraviolent
film on dvd. (However, an inside source told me certain films
are edited slighty, just enough that a slack jawed doofus won't
notice)
2. They're clothes suck. Yeah, Target has much better clothes.
Especially if you are a woman. (The new Isaac Mizrahi line is
hot, don't front) Where am I going with all this? What am I saying?
Well you know, this is all a setup. A setup for me to spit my
venomous rage about modern society and it's habitual trappings.
This is the part in the porno where people talk.
Please don't skip it though, people do talk when they aren't fucking.
So it's Saturday afternoon and my little brother must have a
new video game. Splinter Cell: "Pandora Tomorrow", is
the name of the coveted game of which we search for. It's sold
out every where. The final option: go to Wal-mart, get game, get
the fuck out. Easier said then done. (OOOOOHHH, CAN YOU ALREADY
FEEL MY ANGER BUILDING?)
The parking lot is packed. I MEAN FUCKING PACKED. They're are
more people at
this Wal-mart than the average amount of estrogen in a fucking
Oprah audience. All the cars have dents and scratches, these people
are veterans in war with carelessly left shopping carts. People
slowly walk (about as quick as snails fuck) across the lot. Slow
enough where you aren't moving, but, just releasing your foot
from the break every 15 minutes or so. You
really aren't getting any where, your kind of parked, this has
to be the vision of hell for some folks. Well after some asshole
cuts you off at least twice before you try to get two decent parking
spaces, you give up(or you pull out you nine so your happy bullet
friends can give the bastards a brain bath) Now you are fucked.
I am a fat bastard but fuck it aren't we all? Yeah
you guessed right, you found a spot, IN EAST BUMBLEFUCK!!!! You
are walking bitch! You are gonna work off some of that motherfucking
Subway, Oneway or another. I mean you are parked in another fucking
zip code. (But, hey, my kid brother needs to further dilute his
social skills by killing thousands of faceless enemies in digital
ecstasy)
I am not a racist but, fuck it, I am the only non-latino in the
parking lot. I will leave shit at that.
You have entered The Wal-mart. Now we're gonna see what you are
really made of. A thousand people bump into you or get in the
way. They stop like deer in headlights. I knock people over, elbow
old ladies and step on children. However, I always say excuse
me, so when I assault someone with my girth, it's cool, cause'
I do it politely.(Ocassionally, I knock some loudmouth down and
then help him up, pretending to be sincerely sorry, deep down
I
want to laugh)
AAAAHHHHH!! MMMMMMHHHH! Smell that, it's sheep, fresh from the
slaughter.
Yeah, there is some serious white trash here folks. Mullets, Nascar
hats, bootleg 2Pac shirts, bad tattoos, loud clothing made by
bootleg FUBU bootlegs, loud dirty children with permanant candy
stuck all over their faces,wrestling t-shirts, kids running around
like wild dogs, mothers that should be in middle school, grandparents
stuck with dirty ass kids while
their kid is a fucking part time cashier, bad teeth, 4 thousand
pounds of make up, outfits that don't fit, pieces of cellulite
never seen by sunlight...ARRHHRHHHGGGGHHHH! FUCK! I HATE WHITE
TRASH! I AM WHITE TRASH!!! I can't take it, I gotta take a breather.
Okay, I'm back. Let's talk about warm weather and how it brings
out fat white women so nasty, you want to move away. Fat black
women, love 'em, sassy. Fat latina women love 'em, spicy. Fat
asian woman, well if you find one, I will hit it, at least once
right?
Listen I love my women with some meat, I can't front, I love
me a big woman. But, damn there are some white bitches that gotta
go!
FAT WHITE TRASH WOMEN (that I ain't fucked, yet):
1. Love t-shirts that come down to their knees with either Pooh
bear or Tweety bird on them. (This is a calling card of theirs,
a signature item. This is how the Disney store pays the bills
kids)
2.Pro Keds. They are dying a slow death on that bitches feet,
they too might be emblazoned with a print or Tweety.
3.Food: Bitch got food. Yup. In her hand lays calories of proportions
of sugar unheard of. These bitches can't control themselves. They
got to have something to munch on.
4. Outfits that don't fit skinny bitches: Yeah this is very scary,
especially when there are so many rolls and bulges, that their
stretchmarks gotta hit Jenny Craig. This is so creepy and gross,
I ain't even gonna fuck with it no more.
5.The Black(sometimes latino) baby daddy: This clown, don't work.
Loves hitting that big carvel vanilla ass and gues what? Loves
when honey pays them bills. Famous last words: Yo, can I borrow
the car tonight? You ain't ever seein' his ass again, unless things
don't work out with the skinny girl in Queens.
BY THE NUMBERS FUN FACTS:
Total time in store (time I will never get back from my miserable
life):31 minutes, 27 seconds
Time spent buying game: 93 seconds
Time on line: 14 minutes, 16 seconds
Time spent on me checking out white trash chicks who make mean
mac and cheese, but will bang your sister for a Nextell: PRICELESS.
So the bastards have the game. Yay! We buy it. Then we power
walk to the car. See if anybody hit my little car and drive. Drive
very far, very fast and thank the good lord how lucky we are.
This ending might seem anticlimatic or a letdown. Well story
wise, it is. But, it's the truth. The whole story is, I couldn't
make this shit up. We busted the fuck outta Walmart.
You know what? I stole a wrestling magazine. So fuck you
