|
Do Something, White Trash before/after "Who knows the game/that's the talk of the city/who knows the game/that's the talk of the town/who knows the game that everyone's talking about/everyone know's its winfall" -lottery ad. This ad spooks me. Its shown with all these beautiful people dancing, and money splashing all about, as if this 'winfall' is a very large party happening somewhere, apparently the whereabouts of which, I'm the only one who's not privy. Its like a brainwash. EVERYONE knows. What the fuck? I wish they'd show the reality of the lottery ticket buyers. That's right, white trash. Especially those scratch off's. They fuckin' love those scratch off's. And the Salvation Army stores. I was thrifting two days ago. I like to thrift. Keep your high rent clothes. I'll buy them when you are dead. Who knows, polo may have Salvation Army cache in twenty years. Fuck it. I like vintage shit, and I don't want to pay thirty dollars for a vintage shirt. Besides, this town is a gold mine. What is odd, is lately I don't even wear my vintage shit. Back to the old t-shirted ways, a humble cookie cutter american with a head full of bad ideas and strange memories, the weirdest book with the plainest cover you can find. Its always the quiet ones. But it was not quiet at the Salvation Army. Hell no. Several clutches of white trash, perhaps even three brood (broods?) roaming around and screaming. The screaming was bad, the mullets were worse, and there was no joy when these screaming mulleted children each in turn found the second hand toys that made noise. Yeah motherfucker, that's what you need, a toy that allows you to make even more noise. But I handled, you know? I fuckin' handled it. I handled it until something came at me from under the aisles of clothing. I heard this hissing and huffing. Some sort of shuffling coming from a direction I certainly didn't expect. And really, I'm not sure what I thought it was. It provoked a fight or flight sort of thing, and running just wasn't an option. I squared up quickly and was glad I donned my Doc's before I went out the door that morning. Whatever the fuck was coming at me was about to get the shit stomped out of it. Probably a rat. The employees would be happy with me. "Larry-joe!" a nearby mother screeched "Boy! You are cruisin'. You are cruisin'!" "Awwww, mommm!" a mulleted blonde child slid out from underneath the aisle of clothing. "I MEAN it." she barked, and the child heeled, somewhat anyway, slithered under two more aisles and then walked in tow for about five minutes. I just don't understand embarassing lack of manners. Maybe I'm too waspy. But, like, handle your fuckin' children. Buy them some scratch off's and shut them the fuck up or something. And lay off your rutting.
|
