The X in Xmas Shopping
I never shop at Walmart but I absolutely had to go there yesterday because it's close to my house, my electric blanket broke and I hated the idea of spending 'Bed, Bath and Beyond' money on something that just needs to lay there and be warm about 12 days of the year.
However, Walmart didn't have electric blankets but they did have screaming, unsupervised kids who think nothing on slobbering on merchandise their parents have not purchased, people who can't operate a simple cart, lots of curiously large people on electric scooters, and a staff that must have descended from the Jabba the Hutt clan.
I felt sticky and unclean after I left that dump, like someone had rubbed me down with damp gumdrops they'd found in the parking lot.
Meanwhile, my neighbor Pete used to live next door until he shacked up with Margie across the street, then they married and he rented his house to a drunken young asshole and the things he holds dearest (in descending order:) his loud motorcycle, yelping dog, wife and kids.
Needless to say, a few battles have started between me and the neighbor punk, and between me and his landlord Pete, whose face resembles a pockmarked scrotum with a mustache.
Pete seems not to care that he's turning the neighborhood into a rathole by renting it to a drunken little punk and his low-life brood.
Suffice it to say, the punk family is learning all about opera these days. I turn it on when they start making noise too close to my house...which is all the damn time.
Anyway, last night I had to laugh.
After Pete told me to go fuck myself last Thursday night when I called him after 11p.m. to tell him the stupid ass next door woke me up by nailing boards on the fence they have illegally attached to my house, Pete spent the weekend putting up Christmas decorations on the house he shares with Margie.
That must make him feel so Christian.
I just hope Jesus is watching him.