Saturday, July 10, 2004

Crotch monkeys

Wal-Mart is the white trash Field of Dreams. If you build it, they will come. My boycott against Wallyworld began 2 years ago. They keep a greeter at the entrance who is generally in his 70's and whose pride is so beaten down he's accepted this job as how he'll finish his life. As I was walking in one beautiful, muggy as fuck day I saw a typical trailer park couple walking out. The woman had one tooth, which was one more than her dirty, stank-ass common law husband who was pushing the buggy. They went through the detectors and the buzzer sounded with an overly pleasant voice, "I'm sorry, we have obviously failed to remove the security device from your purchase." The old greeter stepped forward, his hand in the air to wave them down. But rather than pausing to clear up the mishap, the woman covered a powerdrill in the basket with a bag and the two rushed out of the store.

The old greeter stopped and shrugged and went back to his post beside the buggies. Now I'll be the first to admit it, I have a temper. And at this point it went off. "Is there no security for you to call?" He shook his head. "So you just let them run out?" He nodded and replied with, "I can't chase them down myself, son."

He had a point. Wallyworld apparently cared so little about theft their own security device took blame for failing to remove some damn tag, then they placed 70 year old men on guard with no back up security. That was the last time I stepped foot in a Wallyworld...until this morning.

The Target is 10 miles away from my house, right next door to Wallyworld. But a few weeks ago another Wally opened just a mile away. I was pissed off when I heard, certain it would bring its white trash following in tow and drag down my property value. But this morning I was out of shaving cream and felt it wasn't worth the drive for a can of Gillette. I decided to give them another chance.

I grabbed my can, sensitive formula because I'm a tender sort of guy, and went to stand in line. The couple in front of me was...you guessed it. White trash. He was wearing clothes he'd obviously changed oil in weeks ago. I'm sure if he stepped out of them, they would have stood beside him. She was about a size XXL wearing a M. Her midriff shirt not only left nothing to the imagination, but it will infiltrate my nightmares. Her shorts were so far up her ass I could see the fur on her crotch monkey. I had to turn away before my Wheaties came a'calling, only to find myself barraged with slurping sounds.

Oh, dear God, please don't let them be going at it in the check out line. But the scattering of pig brain cells in my head insisted on seeing some possible porn and I turned back to them. AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! My eyes, my eyes! Oh shit, make the burning stop!!! He's LICKING her, aw, FUCK NO! He had grabbed a slab of meaty loving hanging over the top of her crotch monkey shorts and was slathering her neck and face with his skoal covered tongue.

I tossed my can of shaving cream into their basket and walked out, unable to confront them on any level. I fucking hate Wal-Mart. It was worth the drive to Target to stand in line behind a soccer mom wearing too much jewelry.