The Next Generation Will Have No Idea What A “Cashier” Is (Was)

Today the self-checkout was working perfectly, but all she was buying were two boxes of Special K bars, which no one would consider an embarrassing purchase in the least.  Last time, when she had the jumbo box of heavy-flow tampons and a Durex Pleasure Pack (six kids was enough!) in the basket along with some shampoo, a carton of milk and some other odds and ends, the bar code scanner went on the fritz and a store employee had to come and reset the machine.  Of course, being not the sharpest tool in the shed, it took him some time to figure out how to get the damn thing up and running again, while the line of customers grew ever longer.  Mrs. Poopmonster could only wait there, mortified, imagining that all of the other shoppers must be silently judging her for liking to get freaky with the strawberry-flavored prophylactics.  How ironic that in trying to avoid embarrassment and avoid any human contact while purchasing such goods, she had ended up attracting the attention of most likely everyone in the store.  Murphy’s Law was quite the little bitch, she had thought.

Bah Humbear

Tim wasn’t entirely sure that the stockings had been hung with care.  They were  kind of askew, actually, which annoyed him a bit.  And whoever had decorated this tree had apparently forgotten that there were other colors in the rainbow besides red.  But even though someone was seriously deficient in decorating prowess, Tim had decided that he would put aside his opinons and have a good time.  Merry Christmas, everybody.

I Really Don’t Understand Why This Is Popular

Okay, so he had finally tried this “planking” thing.  Maybe he’d been a little late to hop on the bandwagon, but now that he had tried it, Elmo still didn’t get why people insisted on carrying on this stupid trend.  Oh yay, I can lay flat on things that aren’t meant to be laid on, then I can post the picture on the internet and pretend I’m cool.  Whoop-dee-freakin’-doo.  All Elmo really understood was that this was uncomfortable and he was getting dirty.

Begorrah

Every Friday, Lucky treats his co-workers to a new “Irish Proverb of the Week.”  This week’s wisdom is, “There are other ways of killing a pig than by choking it with butter.”  It’s complete nonsense, but he can say anything with that accent of his and everyone thinks it’s clever and charming.

You Have To Sit On It Everyday, So You Should Treat It Well

Although he had managed to stay afloat relatively well in these troubling economic times, Trojan had begun to take money-saving measures that he never would have considered pre-recession.  You never know when you might need the extra dollars in the checking account, he supposed.  He’d altered his commute schedule so as to avoid peak fares during rush hour in the subway, and all but eliminated the usual mid-day latte run to Starbucks.  He had even (gasp!) started clipping coupons, which did make him feel a little granny-ish, although he was not-so-secretly proud of the fact that he had gotten thirty-seven dollars worth of dish soap, noodles and toothpaste for $19.25 last week at CVS.  If there was one thing he just couldn’t compromise on, however, it was kitty litter.  While Arm & Hammer was the cheaper option, it was also scratchy underpaw and less fragrantly pleasing.  Fresh Step, while the more expensive of the choices, made doing his business more comfortable, and Trojan was of the opinion that there were just some areas where pinching pennies wasn’t worth it.  Given the option of paying a couple bucks for lovely quilted t.p. or wiping your bits with leaves for free, he was willing to bet most people would shell out in the name of comfort.

****ing Metro!

 

Normally, when there were delays in the subway, Alistair would just stick it out underground and wait, no matter how long it took for the train to arrive.  Today, for God-knows-what reason, when he saw the “Please add a half-hour to your travel time” on the notification board, he decided that he would just come back up and take a cab to work.  Normally, his neighborhood was overrun with taxis, always honking their horns and hogging the pumps at the petrol station, but of course on the one day he wanted one, there were none in sight.  How aggravating.  Fifteen minutes wasted in the metro station, and ten minutes standing on this corner like a cheap tart, going nowhere.  Alistair supposed he might as well start walking, although he was going to be seriously late no matter how he got to work at this stage.  God, he hated being late.  Stupid subway.

Doggy Style

Look, when I said you could tie me up and treat me badly, this wasn’t really what I had in mind.

What They Hear When You Tell Them Something Constructive

All Mrs. Poopmonster wanted was for Mr. Squishy to hang up his towel so that it would not sit in a ball on the floor, where it would stay damp and get smelly.  Yes, sometimes she also wanted him to take his empty beer bottles and put them in the recycling bin, and yes, she would prefer it if he would unplug the phone charger when he wasn’t actually charging the phone.  Mr. Squishy knew she was trying to tell him something, but all he really heard when she rattled on like this was, “blah blah blah, NO, blah blah blah, NAG NAG NAG, blah blah blah, NO, blah blah, NAG, NO, NAG NAG NAG…”

Actually, All Of These Reasons Are Somewhat Relevant

You could say that you are busy at work and there is a lot to do around the house.  You could say that the hot weather and humidity are sucking your will to live.  You could say that you are trying to finish knitting that baby blanket before your friend’s kid is too big to use it.  You could say that you’d rather go to a baseball game or drink margaritas or meet friends for trivia night.  Or you could just admit you’ve turned into an uninspired, lazy bastard and that this whole “keeping the blog updated” thing is hard.

So Long And Take Care Of My Fish*

As he waited to board the bus, Gustav could hardly believe that after months of thinking about it, he was finally moving to big, bad New York City.  He had no job waiting there, and no apartment, just one generous friend with a spare couch and a connection or two that he hoped would prove useful.  He already missed the friends he’d made here, especially Mr. Octopus, in whom he’d found a running partner and bestie for life.  Mr. Octopus had been kind enough to help him pack for the journey, and Gustav was actually pretty impressed that he’d managed to cram all of his belongings into one suitcase, one duffel and a shoulder bag.  At least he was prepared in the luggage department.  He’d worry about employment and lodging when he got there.  As the motor of the bus started its diesel-fueled hum, Gustav wondered if he was being outrageously ballsy or incredibly stupid.  He’d just have to have faith and go with ballsy.

*Dedicated to Ed, who I wish lots of luck, and to whom I have entrusted the care of the only H-Less Wonderer to ever leave my possession.