One month ago I unpacked my groceries on the kitchen counter, and much to my surprise found a picture on one of the bags of the blog entitled “Funny Bone Laughlines” and on top of the image a caption that read “Missing: Endangered Runaway.” I recalled at that time the fine print on the recyclable plastic material disclosing that this site was a strong nominee to portray the lead role in Hiatus, The Charlie Sheen Story. So, if I may, a little advice to this sarcastic, written creation of facebook’s Lancer, Inc.: Come to the audition showing a supersized combo meal of the male cleavage and hamburger meat. You’re a sure shoe-in for the part if you sell that internet booty which cyberspace blessed you with!
Since I am classified as being a morning person by means of modern day electronics only (with the assistance of an alarm), I would like to devote only a small portion of this blog space to the real American genius’ of dawn’s crack—the early bird. If anybody should call foul on such a race of people, it is me towards them. Should I be discriminated against by not receiving a bountiful discount on the goods purchased because I can’t get my small-framed money making caboose out of bed early enough? Perhaps, I should answer that question with a response that is short, yet carries a ringing in your ear comparable to a bad case of tinnitus--NO! A group of elites have my interests in mind as I sublet to them the reverse side of my body better known as my back. Like a properly trained blood hound, the ACLU can sniff out the scent of favoritism and malpractice and expose your bad name like it’s a cheap self-shot porno pic on the webbed Google machine.
Early bird, it is you that converts your child’s sleeping headquarters into a warehouse storing holiday décor 364 days early for a Jesus B-Day 2011. You are the reason why the cable show “Hoarders” steadily remains on top season after season. With that being said, I pity the person who had only ONE item and stood behind you while the whole west-end of a store called Wal-Mart was being bought out by none other than yourself. Back in my day, a self-checkout was better known as a fricking mirror, but now it is a politically correct way of escape from an OCD, caffeine bleeding member of the population known as the high octane spending consumer. I’m convinced that after looking at the deed to your house, it is no typo that the words “Made in China” are branded on that document due to all the cheap trash you purchased originating from that country. Consider your shopping extravaganza a stimulus check paid to the order of the Chinese.
Before my soap box which was once a home for a bar of Lever 2000 caves in, I would like to comment on the improper disposal of shopping carts. As if a spot close to the entrance and later unmasked as handicapped doesn’t pose itself as the fool’s gold of parking and busts out my knee caps, so to speak, you throw out a perfectly good place to position my vehicle by your abandonment of the wire basket on wheels. This aide, more commonly known as the rent-a-car for the homeless and their possessions, is the fingerprinted evidence that the early bird has been here and fled the scene leaving only a shelf barer than the win column of the Minnesota Timberwolves. What a subtle way to direct an obscene gesture at me, the nonchalant customer. Let me put to good use the feather duster that was provided compliments of online shopping and dust off my hexing skills. Since karma is a b*tch, may your return lines be long and your receipts as proof of purchase disappear without a trace…Even though my appearance in the retail market is not as prompt, my middle finger has just as much spring in its step as yours. Next window please.
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