Christmas Kumate
In an unprecedented display of Christmas shopping skill and prowess, I managed to successfully complete ALL my holiday errands and gift buying in little over one hour at the local public mall today. Seventy-fucking-seven minutes to be fucking EXACT…I was kicking merry ass and taking jolly names!
This is the first time, and also very likely the last time, that this will ever happen to me again! I am confident that I am the kind of poor wretched type of person that will be forever grinding it out in the stores aisles in bouts of pitched combat with all the other shoppers still left in the store only mere hours before they close.
It’s like Opening Night at the Coliseum: armed warriors waging battle with each other to the death for the last few remaining: elderberry-scented candles, a plastic wall mounted Bass that sings CCR tunes, boxes of ‘After Eight’ mints with the Best Before stickers ripped off, a set of Brittany Spears car mats *, special tubs of “Ylang-ylang Enriched” moisturizing skin conditioner, spools of tackily-designed wrapping paper with palm trees, or chipped ceramic ashtrays in the likeness of Tony Soprano…or at least something that is guaranteed to accumulate more dust than a Roman butter dish left out on a Pompeii street corner.
Or maybe I would just fall back on the new holiday staple in every public shopping mall: the cell phone booths. These fucking cell phone companies and service centers are like fucking locust! The cell phone marketers and salespersons fortify themselves in barricaded Sales Centers every 10ft or so down the mall wings and tirelessly hock their ‘Calling Cards’, ‘Unlimited Weekends’, and a Ring Tone that plays Supertramp’s entire ‘Fools Overature’.
For all the sales demonstrations going on you couldn’t so much as squeak out a fart in any public mall nowadays without it being picked up on someone's new 'High-Clarity' cell phone somewhere! Fuck, if I’m interpreting cutesy chameleon and piggy commercials correctly, that cell phones are capable of being consumed, digested and being shat out by a 4 ton Tyrannysaurus Rex, and not only still work, but not even charge you a single second of ‘Roaming’.
But this year, I left all this usual seasonal shopping nastiness behind me. I must have had a Christmas angel on my shoulder working crowd control or something, because my foray into the unchartered Shopping Mall “No Man’s Land” couldn’t have gone easier today had I been wielding (and using) a fully fueled flamethrower. Can you imagine the reaction I’d get when I saunter up to the Customer Service Center with my fuse already lit and hissing:
“Excuse me, do you know where I can find that new Michael Moore DVD?”
You’d better believe that they’d be moving their ass post haste across the stores salesfloor like an Olympic 100m Sprinter in order to secure me my purchase and get this fucking lunatic out of the store with as little Christmas casualties as possible.
* Is there ANYTHING that this chick won’t slap her tits on?
This is the first time, and also very likely the last time, that this will ever happen to me again! I am confident that I am the kind of poor wretched type of person that will be forever grinding it out in the stores aisles in bouts of pitched combat with all the other shoppers still left in the store only mere hours before they close.
It’s like Opening Night at the Coliseum: armed warriors waging battle with each other to the death for the last few remaining: elderberry-scented candles, a plastic wall mounted Bass that sings CCR tunes, boxes of ‘After Eight’ mints with the Best Before stickers ripped off, a set of Brittany Spears car mats *, special tubs of “Ylang-ylang Enriched” moisturizing skin conditioner, spools of tackily-designed wrapping paper with palm trees, or chipped ceramic ashtrays in the likeness of Tony Soprano…or at least something that is guaranteed to accumulate more dust than a Roman butter dish left out on a Pompeii street corner.
Or maybe I would just fall back on the new holiday staple in every public shopping mall: the cell phone booths. These fucking cell phone companies and service centers are like fucking locust! The cell phone marketers and salespersons fortify themselves in barricaded Sales Centers every 10ft or so down the mall wings and tirelessly hock their ‘Calling Cards’, ‘Unlimited Weekends’, and a Ring Tone that plays Supertramp’s entire ‘Fools Overature’.
For all the sales demonstrations going on you couldn’t so much as squeak out a fart in any public mall nowadays without it being picked up on someone's new 'High-Clarity' cell phone somewhere! Fuck, if I’m interpreting cutesy chameleon and piggy commercials correctly, that cell phones are capable of being consumed, digested and being shat out by a 4 ton Tyrannysaurus Rex, and not only still work, but not even charge you a single second of ‘Roaming’.
But this year, I left all this usual seasonal shopping nastiness behind me. I must have had a Christmas angel on my shoulder working crowd control or something, because my foray into the unchartered Shopping Mall “No Man’s Land” couldn’t have gone easier today had I been wielding (and using) a fully fueled flamethrower. Can you imagine the reaction I’d get when I saunter up to the Customer Service Center with my fuse already lit and hissing:
“Excuse me, do you know where I can find that new Michael Moore DVD?”
You’d better believe that they’d be moving their ass post haste across the stores salesfloor like an Olympic 100m Sprinter in order to secure me my purchase and get this fucking lunatic out of the store with as little Christmas casualties as possible.
* Is there ANYTHING that this chick won’t slap her tits on?
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