If you were wearing night vision goggles, and you had pissed me off, this would be the last thing you would see before going to meet your maker in an untimely bedtime 'accident'.
Now that we have that bit of unpleasantry out of the way, I would like to wonder aloud why it is that people who drive unbearably slow on twisty roads appear to be in no hurry for any part of their lives to commence at once, except the part whereby they cut you off in order to be in front of you. That part must begin immediately. Life's a raucous diet Pepsi commercial, with music and dancing and sunglasses and bikini clad chicks and fast cars and all, all until the moment that they find themselves blocking your progress, then it's suddenly more like the commercials that are on during the evening news (incontinence, impotence, enlarged prostrate products)... and I don't like those commercials, nobody does. That's why I chose to NOT KNOW what is happening in the wide world around me via the oh so important evening news. It spares me the oncoming reality of having to sit on the edge of a meadow in a matching claw foot bathtub with my significant elderly other in order to achieve an erection, while wearing an adult sized diaper and suppressing the urge to trot off to the men's room. Some thoughts are just too much for my fragile ego to bear. So I resent having to drive fifteen mph under the posted speed limit with nothing to do but dwell on my chances of having to live through that most unpleasant of futures.
Went to the Wally-World today. It ain't no Target, that's fer damn sure. I don't know what it is. Well actually I do... Wal-Mart has zero sex appeal. Never had, never will. And I'm not just talking about the patrons. I have just never felt anything special about being there and I don't think anybody else ever has either. The place just screams "It's OKay to wear your bathrobe and fuzzy slippers in here, and stagger around with your bedhead and a general odor abouts yourself, I don't mind", preferably through one of them patented Kentucky mouths with a third of the teeth missing, the kind that HeeHaw always tried to pass off as normal by having pretty gals in plaid belly shirts with that seductive knot calling out to you, wearing blackout on their grills, but that in reality has never ever looked good on an actual person. Of course ol' Walter would be staggering around the bed of his pickup truck whilst proclaiming this slurringly and holding his fifteenth Old Milwaukee and considering if it's a good time to go git a little bit of target practice out of the way.
Target, conversely, is more the type of place where one always feels as if the other patrons may be eavesdropping in on you and your spouse's oh so clever banter because your just both so damn good looking and hip. If your feeling exceedingly cool, there is a whole section of black leather furniture and stylish lamps to feed your self importance. There are aisles of organizational entitlements to help you feel stylishly NewYorkish as you unclutter your life. Then there are more aisles of crap that you can put into your freshly purchased bins so that one can feel that they have enough thingees to prevent them from ever having to suffer from anything as horrible as an occasional spate of boredom. Full makeup required. Take a shower you pig. Tuck in that shirt, this is Target, land of the red and white concentric circles. Neat and organized concentric circles, dammit; neat, organized and sexy.
As I prepare to leave you, I would like to share with you this bit of imagery from the ever so cultured Pacific Northwest area. This is a wall that has been lovingly attended to through the years by the refined citizens of upscale Seattle, with decades of old chewing gum. Yes, you too, can go to this wall and contribute, or help yourself to this edible architecture if you prefer, fresher additions will come up easier, watch for the glisten. Sure it's a bit germy, but what a statement, and it's free. If you turn your head sideways, it looks like a huge outpouring of political support for your fave cause celeb. For me it brings to mind those Pakistani taxi driver beaded seat covers, only I'm imagining that this would feel better on my lower back.