Subject: mulch

Date: 10 Oct 1998 00:00:00 GMT

From: -------------------------------- (reverse fried egg)

Reply-To: ---------------------------------

Organization: ---------------------------------

Newsgroups: alt.foot.fat-free

 

 

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

off.

 

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

guts."

 

I'm not kiddin.' They're that bad.

 

noddin' out here. gone.