Ah, good ol’ Wal-Mart. A land of enchantment where parents discipline their wild, unruly children in public, butt cracks (male and female) protrude from old, dirty sweatpants or yoga pants two sizes too small, bikini-clad employees sunbathe in the parking lot during their break, and overweight customers cruise around in little motorized carts, not because they are physically disabled but because they’re lazy. God forbid they should get 30 minutes of exercise while they shop.
It’s a playground for lower-class idiots where the filth of society collects like leaves in a gutter.
It’s a strange and eclectic group of individuals whom society otherwise would’ve forgotten if it weren’t for the tantalizing draw of cheap goods (or should I say easy-to-shoplift goods?) and one-stop shopping that this conglomerate offers to lure these lepers out.
It’s a playground for lower-class idiots where the filth of society collects like leaves in a gutter. Maybe they flock there because of the $3.99 T-shirts, but more than likely it’s the $5.99 Duck Dynasty T-shirts that attract these folks out of hiding. At least that’s what I’ve gathered in these past few months working on the west bank of New Orleans.
In my current line of work, I’m forced to sell merchandise to Wal-Mart as well as other retail monsters like it (Winn-Dixie, Rouses, etc.). I’d say it’s unfortunate, but as an avid people-watcher, it’s everything but. … Some of these people may be pathetic, but as far as live entertainment goes … golden!
I’m sure all of you have had the pleasure of checking out PeopleOfWalmart.com. If you haven’t, do yourself a favor. The site is entirely dedicated to showcasing these amazing individuals who lack the shame and humility of any normal human being. The sheer depravity of some of these individuals will blow your mind. And while you’re at it, check out the Mr. Ghetto’s “Wal-Mart” video – hilarious…
I’d like to be sympathetic, but I can’t help myself. Some of these poor, unfortunate souls even seem to have a deranged sense of pride about their appearance, so it’s their own fault. If you didn’t want to be made fun of, you should’ve looked in the mirror before leaving your house looking like that.
OK, seriously, what is it with the baggy pants thing? This has been a fad for two decades now, and I don’t get it. I can see maybe a little bit of the waistband of your drawers showing, but some of these assholes drop trou to their lower thighs. The pants are so low they are spreading their legs in a split to keep them from falling, waddling along, legs oscillating back and forth as if they were puppeteered by a child playing with his action figure. I don’t get it.
I’m not saying that wearing saggy pants makes you a criminal, but it does mean you’re more than likely NOT a model citizen.
When I worked for a newspaper in St. John Parish, the parish had recently passed a “saggy pants” ordinance deeming it illegal to have your pants sag below your waist. I’d say it was progressive lawmaking, but more than likely it was just a tool for criminal profiling. I’m not saying that wearing saggy pants makes you a criminal, but it does mean you’re more than likely NOT a model citizen.
Trendsetting apparently is easy. All you have to do is think of the least functional way to wear your clothes and bam! There you have it.
I was saying to someone the other day, “I’m going to start the new trend. I’m going to start tying my shoelaces together. That’s right. It’s going to be the next big thing.”
Just as I was saying this, I shit you not, I saw someone (in Wal-Mart) wearing two knee pads around her ankles and tied together. Ridiculous …
Sorry, I got a little distracted for a moment. Anyway, back to Wal-Mart. I witnessed something so incredible the other day. I actually was doing some shopping on the hygiene aisle, debating whether I should upgrade from the Fusion ProGlide to the Fusion ProGlide with FlexBall technology.
I’m a sucker for celebrity endorsements. Clay Matthews influenced my decision to upgrade to ProGlide a year or so ago, but the new commercial with that guy shaving his face all in one stroke with the razor never leaving his face also was weighing heavily on my decision.
I was locked in my mind, disputing this question (I also was pretty stoned), when I heard a man on the next aisle. He sounded like a big fella, breathing loudly and moving slowly. He seemed like the type who would usually scoot around on the electric cart, but there must’ve been a shortage. So he was forced to lean over the basket and use it as a walker.
I heard the most violent explosion of human excrement: This poor guy just shat his pants in the middle of Wal-Mart.
All of this I assumed. He was an aisle over, and I couldn’t see. But it sounded a bit like he was struggling, grunting and groaning, belly-aching, as it were. I thought nothing of it. Just another happy, obese Wal-Mart customer until …
“Uh oh!” he exclaimed.
Then I heard the most violent explosion of human excrement: the tumultuous sound of hot, smelly air and liquid escaping at a rapid pace from this dude’s spasming sphincter. This poor guy just shat his pants in the middle of Wal-Mart.
I was in such shock and disbelief as I looked around to see if anyone else had experienced what I had. There was a girl on the same aisle as me. Her hand was covering her mouth and she was looking at me to reaffirm her own disbelief of the situation.
“Did he just shit himself?” she mouthed silently at me.
I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders because that was the only response I could muster.
We were both incredibly embarrassed for this poor man. She was so much so that she ended her shopping trip prematurely, still covering her face as she made her hasty exit from the aisle.
I wasn’t far behind her. The deviant in me wanted to peek around the corner and snap a pic with my phone, but my conscience wouldn’t allow it. This bastard will suffer enough without my help.
So that is what I now refer to as a Wal-Mart moment. If you ever have to excuse yourself from anywhere because of explosive diarrhea, just say, “Excuse me, I’m having a Wal-Mart moment.”
The stories from Wal-Mart are endless; it’s a bottomless pit of story lines. It’s like a soap opera with ugly people or the WWE only white-trashier. Is that possible?