That I just look at what they're doing and then I do the opposite.
To, y'know, stand out.
I don't need to put in effort to stand out.
My gap-toothed, hee-haw appearance gurantees that.
When I'm the guy on the flight who spills his shot-sized cup of coffee on his lap.
While the plane's still over the island.
I don't need to work at it. I stand out whether I like it or not.
I like it.
But still.
I don't avoid Wal-Mart because it's trendy to avoid Wal-Mart.
I avoid Wal-Mart because when I walk in there my brain immediately begins slamming itself against the wall of my skull.
Until I leave.
Because it's trying to escape.
It's a breeding ground for people who wear black jogging pants to 'dress up.'
Who communicate with their families by shouting obscenities.
I don't give a fuck if I'm saving 85 cents on orange juice if I have to buy it in that environment.
We did Cora's last monthish.
I showed up last.
Cause I'm always late.
I am punctuality's anti-Christ.
My penis friends are right on that one. No arguments here.
Anyway, I show up last.
They're already seated.
And all of 'em. Missuses. All of 'em.
They start laughing as soon as they look at me.
And I don't know why.
Turns out it's because I looked so gross.
Which is why I ran into my ex-girlfriend's entire family during the same breakfast.
Existence isn't a treat for me.
But at least there's fresh fruit.
Don't get me wrong.
I'm just whinging, as the Australians say.
I wouldn't trade 'em for all of the gold in Ja Rule's mouth.
3 comments:
Ya cunt. Yes, I said cunt. Thanks for loading the fat pic on your blog. I didn't think you looked gross. It just that you always look like you just got out of bed until 3 P.M.
Are you fat in that picture?
I wanted to use the one where we're all playing hockey in the driveway and Bussey's on his ass.
But it's at mudder's.
I avoid Walmart because it smells like puke and Subway sandwiches.
(I almost wrote "pike and Subway sandwiches." Take that how you want to.)
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