Date: 10 Oct 1998 00:00:00 GMT
From: -------------------------------- (reverse fried egg)
dunno if it's late or early. At least we got out of there before the
fucking mall-walking metamucil and Dr Shooools zombies showed up.
Anyway, after closing time is the ONLY time to go to the mall. It's
lots better than when it's open and chest deep in Northside bottle
blonds creating squalling brat packed stroller traffic jams in front
of Crabbush and Evergreen because the Lingonberry scented soap has
been marked down to a mere five dollars a bar and salami bath beads
are half price.
But at least security guards tend to be a really intelligent, colorful
and fascinating bunch, and it's shitheaps of fun hanging with them and
hassling with them and try to get them to open the bigass doors and
have them tell ya: "well nobody don tole me nuthin about this..."
EVERY FUCKING TIME (because EVERY FUCKING TIME, it's new guys) and
make me smart off and say they got me pegged and this is all part of
my master plan to knock over fucking Thom McKan or something, sneaking
around in the middle of the night with a bunch of sleepy greasers and
a delivering a whole bunch of shit just to distract them.
There sure are a lot of assholes on the highways around here. Never
realize just how many until you drive something close to seventy feet
long, and, among other things, one rude, oblivious, ignorant fucking
dildo after another passes you on the right when you got your signal
on because they are determined to make you miss your exit or force you
to do what I do, which is just ignore them and just come on over
slowly and steadily, and let them figure out what the fuck to do about
it, which is usually get run off on the shoulder and get all pissed
Speaking of which, the little dump of a broom-closet sized post office
volunteer police force owned almost completely by the cripple that
owns the boozer and the video store mayor town of Walnut Grove, which
is three miles down the road, had a big road rage incident the other
day, and you can't go anywhere up there without hearing a different
version of what happened. Near as I can tell, a woman cut some guy
off, then he chased her, rammed her, run her off the road and cracked
them both up, and all concerned ended up critically conditioned. As an
indication of how deeply the incident is wedged in the 186 residents'
collective conciousness, the gargantuan fiberglass hog which serves as
the sign for the barbeque dump has some sort of public service-type
reminder urging people to be calm and Christian and not to kill
anybody for failing to signal, instead of the wretched roasted carrion
related rhyming adverts it usually sports. Stuff like: "Don't bother
to cook for that shiftless putz......Take home some stew and animal
I'm not kiddin.' They're that bad.
noddin' out here. gone.