Walmart, Target, shit, even Kohl’s and similar more nichesque (no, it’s not a real word, get the fuck over yourself,) department stores…and chill. Walmart and Chill just had a nice ring to it, so, we went that direction. Now, let’s get down to it. What the ABSOLUTE fuck!? Why, people…why? Mine’s a sort of small town with very little in the way of real chill spots other than dive bars and one really overpriced teeny/young-adult hangout spot a few miles out, but we get foot-traffic from MANY surrounding cities as we serve a sort of hub in that way. An hour in any cardinal direction lands you in a real, decent metropolitan environment with all the cool chill-spots and what not, but all the little suburbs and hole-in-the-wall towns in between flock to us for some reason. Maybe to avoid the crowds? Ha, fat chance when ALL of you get the same stupid ass idea.
But I digress (yes, if you’ve read around the blog any, you realize I do that,) WHY THE FUCK are you hanging out in a department store parking lot? Line of redneckified shit vehicles with thumping systems lined up in the side lot, I swear I saw a fucking open cooler in the back of one of your trucks tonight, and you’re all just chillin and dicking off. That’s cool. Go the fuck somewhere else.
Seriously, though, if that’s all it was, we’d be cool. I can stand your stupid ass music blaring in the distance and time my trips to your side of the lot around your potty breaks. No biggie. But when you motherfuckers start grabbing my carts, pushing each other around in them, grabbing the powered scooter carts for the old people and…racing? Really? I mean, FUCK! What the fuck went wrong in your mind? Was it a rough labor? Did mommy drop you on your fucking head? Or did you just grow up thinking it’s all good to be a dick your whole life and inconvenience others at your whim “cause there’s nothing better to do ’round here”? Find something! You’re rednecks, get a gun and go shoot cans and get drunk. It’s all the rage. Fuck, maybe you’ll fuck up, do something right, and off one another.
But again, IF this was the extent of it, eh, I might be able to overlook all your stupidity and just do my fucking job (when you’re out of my fucking way.) But wait, there’s more… Breakups. I’ve witnessed three so far this year. None of them quiet and private, none of them drama-free (I know, right?) Really? THIS IS WHERE YOU WANT TO DO THIS!? Fuck you people.
Oh, and you, Macho-Man, when a dude wolf-whistles or cat-calls your woman, just grab her ass, kiss her deep, and flip him off. It’s NOT a reason to puff up your chest and try to ‘lay the smack down’ there in the parking lot. You’re going to jail, he’s going to jail, fuck, if she doesn’t keep her shit out of it, she’s going to jail too. Honestly. She should blush and be tickled pink, you should be honored, and rub it in that motherfucker’s face. “Yeah, she’s all mine.” You people pick the dumbest ways to respond to the dumbest shit. Period.
Fuck, what’s next. Oh, if your local department store has furniture, please do not take it upon yourself to FUCKING SLEEP ON IT. Nice comfy-looking chair that’s, andkaereokee this is the real important part, not up on a riser or elevated (significantly, like, on a fucking shelf,) platform, sure, take a seat and get a feel for it. Don’t bring a fucking newspaper. Don’t close your eyes for a few minutes while The Misses takes care of her womanly shopping. If you like it, BUY IT, if not, MOVE.THE.FUCK.ALONG!
Look, we’re here to serve. We want you to have the best shopping experience possible WITHIN REASON. It’s our goal to make you feel at home, to some extent, and be comfortable with your shopping experience. We’re NOT the Motel Fucking 6, we’re NOT your private fucking bed and breakfast, we’re NOT you fucking karaoke bar or dance club, and we’re NOT your personal fucking assistants. No, I’ll not pull your car around, hang your jacket up, or try to figure out what size that cashiers tits are cause they’re about the same size as your girlfriends. If it’s that important and you’re only recourse is that tactless, YOU fucking ask her.
Oh, and when you’re all done with your little fucking parking-lot-kegger and you’re finally taking your ass out of my parking lot, put’m where they go, damn it!