Saturday, September 16, 2006

 

I Had a Lovely Time at the Mall This Afternoon

I know my heading is traditionally reserved for the first line of the snail mail letter you get from your Grandmother who the family has forgotten in some sweltering real estate scam in the Florida Everglades.

“Hey, Gran what was the highlight of 2005 for you?” and she says, “I had a lovely time at the mall this afternoon.”

But you know what fuck Gran, this is my time, I had a lovely time at the mall this afternoon.

I remained untouched.

Instead of the usual barrage of Kiosk, lets call them what they are Fuckbags, peddling their wares with inane statements like:

“Excuse me sir, may I have a second?”
No you Thalidomide baby, I don’t want to try a sample of your Kiosk Sea Salt Skin Cream or Kiosk Octopus Testicle Relaxation Balm. Are you trying to say I have bad skin? Nary a pock on this face Miss, and look at this rosacea, Santa Claus and pedophiles would kill for this natural rouge. I do however need a Great Barrier Reef Foot Scrub for $35, actually thank God you took up a second of my life.

“Do you know how to change the world sir, through language!”
Fuck you, there’s language. Wait, do you mean change the entire world or just my perception of it, because the second choice would be much easier and could be accomplished quite easily for $25 and without any language what so ever. Now, to change the whole world would take rich dialogue, no doubt, but also so much more. It would surely cost billions, perhaps trillions if my calculations are correct.

Oh, you mean your Kiosk Language Tapes are going to help me change the world.

So if I learn how to say in Spanish “The bathroom is under the cactus shaped whore”, our troops will put out of Iraq, Osama Bin Laden will be devoured by his own asshole, America will once again find a purpose and with that a solid economic base other than porn and perpetual bitching on the Internet (congratulations you just found irony), and finally hemorrhoids, male pattern baldness and male lactation will all be a thing of the past? Then I say it is whores, cacti and bathrooms for me sir.

“Have you ever tried a microdot, its ice cream but fun.”
Your Mother let’s you leave the house like that? I had always wondered where the people that crash and burn at Baskin Robbins end up. 31 flavors of actual ice cream were too hard to read and actually scooping the ice cream would require musculature on your bony waif like Victorian fancy lad arms. So Dots it is, two flavors, no scooping. Just let the unnatural Satan spawned “chemical” reaction in your customers’ mouths do all of the actual ice cream making work for you.

I think you get the idea. If you don’t there are these things called malls and they have stands in the middle called kiosks, they sell things like the unholy aberrations I mentioned above but also bad kung fu films, cell phone accessories to take your nextel walkie talkie phone (the one that everybody already hates because they have to listen to your whole fucking conversation) to the next level of annoying by making it blink, slippers, sunglasses, pretzels, popcorn, hair extensions, belt buckles, and some shit I have walked past 42 times and still can’t identify.

Usually, I can’t walk through the mall without these pariahs of life and joy pouncing on me with the velocity of Dumbo shot from a ping pong performing vagina.

But today I was left alone. Thanks to Pac-Man.

Pac-Man is my favorite T-shirt. I wore this shirt to the mall, along with flip flops and some torn shorts. I looked like a bum. If I had a seizure these mistakes of nature wouldn’t have stuck a wallet in my mouth today.

But when I go to the mall from work, with khakis on and a nice button down pressed shirt these people are under you like Croatian land mines of consumerism just waiting to explode with a sales pitch.

Am I surprised? No! This is just an observation and perhaps a lesson. All of those bums that smell like piss and finger paint with their feces; maybe they are on to something. Maybe they aren’t really having a conversation with their pubes, maybe they just want you to think they are so you leave them alone. Then again, they could just be fucking crazy. Just dress down and save yourself some sales pitch grief.