Posts Tagged ‘cops’

Lovable Grandmother Not Tasered Enough

Thursday, 1 October 2009

Madam, you’re a fucking liar and a scumbag. You don’t deserve a red fucking cent, and if the Texas bacon is stupid enough to offer you 40 grand for being a total asshole, they ought to charge you double that for the electricity used to put your rudeness in its place. Fuck you.

While we’re on the subject, why should I give a shit that the perp is old and/or a woman? Where’s that EQUALITY the egalitarian shit-for-brains are always whining about? DOUBLE fuck you.

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Klondike Bar in a thought-cloud starts it all

Tuesday, 28 October 2008

CVS is one of these mid-sized affairs halfway between a real supermarket and a convenience store. I pull in to a parking space with 4 empty spaces on either side. The idiot girl driving a mega-sized truck (no doubt belonging to the absent borefriend) behind me then parks right next to me, so close I have to squeeze out.

But I don’t. I fire up the converters and drive to another space around the corner. Tonight is the second night all year it’s actually cold enough to wear two shirts in lieu of a jacket.

Truck Girl is already in the checkout line when I make it inside. She looks at me. I jam my fist in my pocket so I won’t punch her in the face. I would never do it but the urge is there. Further down, a short blonde Weeble with a scraggly ponytail labors to push a midget-sized shopping cart filled to the brim with stuff; the cart’s so full she really has to lean into it to beat intertia. Christ.

CVS is out of Klondike Bars as well as Drumsticks. Some fatty must’ve ravaged the freezer case earlier. I grab two other frozen things and head for the register. The line is gone, it’s only the Weeble at the counter, now unloading the cart (this is why the poor stay poor, doing weekly shopping here instead of a real supermarket). There’s only one hapless checkout guy. I throw the two frozen things in the beer case and storm out.

I decide on another place. As I pull in, facing the blank-walled side of the gas station convenience store, I see a cop car parked, unoccupied, with its running lights on. That’s all right, the jail’s nearby and the many cops use the convenience stores on this road as watering/donut holes.

I round the corner and find the missing cop. He’s standing right in front of the glass double doors, calmly listening to a fat, loudmouthed woman explain her side of the story about The Accident. I turn around, get back in my car. I figure I really needed something to write about, the gods heard me, and this night is the result.

I drive down to the next store, a Walgreens: half pharmacy/half photos/half food. On the outside wall a strobe light, placed right above a security camera, is strobing. What does this mean? Silent alarm? Wait, a siren!–but it’s only an ambulance whizzing by.

Inside is a display of sassy T-shirts for babies.

I cry when ugly people hold me.

I may be tiny but I’m the Boss.

Society is now so obnoxious even babies must make declarative statements of Asshole.

Walgreens has Drumsticks and Klondike Bars! After my long journey through a chilly hell I appreciate them more. I take one of each plus a third treat, one of those chocolate-covered ice cream bars that looks like it’s covered in venereal warts.

The kid at the register has moved on but has called Kristen to help me.

Kristen is blonde, cute, with a husky voice. Fondling the ice cream, she approves of the purchase. “I need some of these, only I’d buy a carton.”

Does this mean she approves of me?

Her nametag reads Beauty Advisor. The Right Thing to say pops into my head: “You’re a ‘beauty advisor’. They picked the right person.”

I can’t say it. I don’t.

I eat one of the ice creams at the stoplight. The warts one. I am rewarded and it’s good to be alive, but only for now.