Klondike Bar in a thought-cloud starts it all

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.

More On Children

I was mildly stoked to try disc golf (frolf) with “Mac”, a guy from work, until I learned he would have his kid with him.

You’d think from such a reaction and this semi-redundant post that I hate children. Not so! It’s just long ago I had all romantic illusions of childhood stripped away by working with 20 or 30 kids at a time as a glorified babysitter. Not to be a fatalist, but even at ages 5-10 the Lord of the Flies framework is in place; you can already tell who is fucked for life, or will at best have a long, hard road ahead of them. (Years later, I was also horrified/delighted to realize I can legally have sex with any of the girls I once babysat, except that like 99% of the people I’ve met/known, I hope never to see them again).

Not being able to tolerate children is a personal defect as far as this society is concerned, right up there with suspicion at never being married/divorced or a breeder yourself. It’s another way I’ve failed to be normal, one I don’t mind, as I can barely take care of myself, much less another.

I never want to raise another man’s kids or be around them, which is another obstacle to being with the female. I know of a good-looking woman, friend of my friend’s wife, freshly-divorced. She’s good looking, had breast reduction surgery (oh how that pains me) and if she doesn’t already sound like a dream come true, she’s a wealthy heiress to a beer fortune. Seriously. Our slang name for her is “The Beeroness.”

You already know where the problem lies: two daughters, one spoiled and the other who-the-hell-knows.

I just can’t do it.

Problems with children go to far beyond personal ones. These days if someone sees you talking to a child without that child’s guardian close by and you don’t look the part, you’re fucking finished. You are putting your life and reputation in the hands of fate, and if that child decides to lie (or is forced by authority figures to “remember”) you inappropriately touching them…

If this societal paranoia paid off in by actually killing convicted child molesters/rapists/murderers within a week of sentencing, I might support it. But there’s no follow-through there either.

I know many adults that won’t even acknowledge the presence of children for that reason. They’re afraid, with good cause.

And you wonder why the little shits have no respect for anything or anyone.

The greatest mistake this country has made in the past century is allowing federal and state governments to run the schools. How will fucking government, defender of mediocrity and promoter of endless dependency, train future generations to beware of governmental abuses of power? If you have no idea what I’m talking about, you need to take a closer look at your local school system. Why are you barred from knowing your local indoctrination centers’ curriculum? What kind of messages are bureaucrats sending to impressionable young minds about economics and history?

If Mac corners me, I’ll take the hit and go frolfing despite the presence his son, who is 2 or 3 years old. I’m not a shit, or if i am, I’m an observant one: “Mac” loves his kid and having one (and a quality wife) has made him a better, more responsible man.

But all the children everywhere? We have failed them. Drenched in sexual and violent imagery, brainwashed by government schools, “raised” by a parade of moms’ boyfriends (themselves overgrown children) today’s “children” are already dangerous. They are Hitler Youth, only pledging allegiance to the Tele-playstation-Wii-Box and the Next Big Thing. For now.