A couple of things....

Here's a picture of my friend K. I've got his permission to use his photo. Do me a favour and use the comments section to create a caption for this bizarre yet hilarious photo.

I'll get right to hitting on you, just wait for my shoe to be securely affixed to my foot.

Here now, for your reading pleasure, is a rant from my good friend Kristin.

Okay...so my Saturday was going fine......sigh..........until I went to Wal-Mart.
Normally I love Wal-Mart. It's cheap and accessible and has great selection. However, Wal-Mart's true success is hindered by a few fucking elements.

1. Retarded Employees.
I have three fish. Ceili, Feis and Anna. They're goldfish, and when I clean their tank, they pretty much pick up on what's happening and they try to get away. It's fairly normal fish behavior far as I know, and I have to say, they're well trained. They don't freak out nearly as bad as some I've seen. Which brings me to Wal-Mart employees.

I strolled in there today because I needed more blue rocks and water conditioner. So there I am, staring at these two fish I want. One is a Yellow Laba and one was a small white with a fake name. So there I am thinking about how in normal stroes people are assigned to designated departments in order to better service their customers. They are trained in one area. This is called 'specializing.' They have it at Sears; Eaton's (had it), The Bay, some Zellers, and most other high profile department stores.
They do NOT, however, have it at Wal-Mart.

So here comes this fellow who looks like a meteorite full ! of zits crashed on his cheek, and talked like he choked on a dog toy and the squeaker got caught in it.

Yes.............*sigh*......he was a teenager. A very YOUNG teenager.

"I'd like the yellow one and the white one," I directed carefully.

"Oh..okay." So he gets the little ladder and shitty torn up dip-net and proceeds to bang his hand on the lip of the tank, scaring the fish into a corner and emitting a shaky laugh from his mouth. "Wow.....huh-huh! They got pretty scared there hey?"
Yeah asshole, they sure did. Now dip that fucking net in and get me my fish.

But i didn't get my fish. Because the Wal-Mart Gnome was about as capable with dealing in the fish department as I would be in Canadian Tire: Auto Parts area.

"Would you, like me to do it?" I asked. I was really nice, smiling the whole time and only thinking these things to myself. He hee-hawed again and handed me the net. "Yeah! Huh-huh! I'm not having any luck it seems!"

Huh-huh! Well, I dipped! the net in and I got my fish in 30 seconds. Minor stressed fish as opposed to the type that die forty seconds after a Wal-Mart employee scares them to death. It's happened to me before.

Why are they all like that? It's like as soon as they don the blue apron and have the shitty smiley-face pin on, they think they're Bubb-Ho-Tet of the fucking globe! I can't get over how none of them are specifically trained in any one department. It's time-consuming and tedious to watch them sometimes.

I hope i was picky enough to only email this to non-Wal-Mart workers. If anyone is one...you're the exception.

2. Fat Housewives that think they own the fucking world.
Stick a stroller in the doughy hands of a housewife with a kid+, and you've basically given them a Jesus staph and said, "Go wild."
They are so rude! Uhg! It makes me ill. Really. Fort. St John has an abnormal quantity of them anyways, so we develop Housewives A La Hernia a lot quicker than most places.I was walking towards what would soon be the fish episode (see first column, this page) and this ass stares back at me. I can tell it's a housewife. i can tell by the way she leisurely strolls down the aisle with no regard for those around her. I can tell by the way she rests her hammy elbows on the cart and wears Wal-Mart jeans and a berber patterned top that's seen one too many washings. I can tell this because they are literally everywhere.

This particular lady had her cart well stocked for any housewife. Extra large tub of peanut butter; marshmallows, and 2% milk. Her snotty, sticky-handed kids wailed about something in the cart. There was three of them. I don't really car for kids in general, although on a case by case basis I like them. I do NOT however, like gummy-hand kids with ice-cream smeared mouths and bratty voices that whine with the words "I want," "Get me," or "I'm hungry."

But it's the mothers that are far worse. Because they're the massive transportation devices for these mongrels. They have them bouncing on their hips; in their stomachs, and in strollers; carts' and by hand-holding. Wal-Mart is a bad place for this because they encourage this. They get 90% of their business from these people, and therefore they have about eight stalls that are always free and you think "sweet! I'll park there." But you can't.

Why not?

Because three of the spaces are for expectant mothers; and two are for parents; and three are for pregnant PARENTS. There aren't even any wheelchair spaces. Unless you're pregnant in a wheelchair. Try going to Wal-Mart and NOT seeing a cart with a red plastic baby seat. Try it. You'll lose. They are EVERYWHERE. It's a colony. The worst thing though, is the attitude of these housewives. I may be writing a rant, but i a pleasant to all of them, and even smile at their kids. This is my nature. I couldn't be mean to them. However, they, can be mean, to YOU. And they are. Because they wield very important weapons:

-Kids. (No one will ever get mad to your face with a kid, especially women. They are endearing and caring and they've been there). Ugh.
-Weight. Many houewives are chunky. When you're beyond the point of no return like that, you sort of give up. Who cares. Walk in front of someone if you want.

Anyways. I have to go. But i had to rant you see. I guess I'm bitter! But anyways, have a great day. Avoid Wal-Mart like the plague.

Kristin
Éireann Go Brách!

Ciao
Wader

Roadhouse Blues by The Doors