Here’s What I Think Of Those Bastards At Hobby Lobby

A few weeks back, I was in need of blue paint. I was attending a party, you see, and certain parameters of that gathering required me to look like a member of the Blue Man Group.

To Hobby Lobby I went. In the art section, I asked a woman whose name I forget, probably Ruth or Mahalath or something religious, what I could use to paint my head blue. She then quoth Leviticus, chapter 19, verse 28: ‘Do not cut your bodies for the dead or put tattoo marks on yourselves.’

I told her I was simply painting my dome, not tattooing it. She then reached out and touched the hem of my garment, and again, quoted Leviticus, chapter 19, verse 19. The exchange went as follows:

Hobby Lobby Lady: ‘Do not mate different kinds of animals.’

Me: ‘I don’t.’

HLL: ‘Do not plant your field with two kinds of seed.’

Me: ‘I don’t.’

HLL: ‘Do not wear clothing woven of two kinds of material.’

She had me there, for I was wearing a shirt composed of 60% cotton, and 40% polyester.

Me: ‘Are you going to help me find the paint or not?’

HLL: ‘I do not work here.’

Once again, she had me. So I asked a woman that actually did work there where I could find the paint I needed. She didn’t know. After some looking, I eventually found some blue tempura paint that met my needs exactly.

So, Hobby Lobby, it is my opinion that you should invest more in your employees, particularly on training them in knowledge of paint.

Ten Things People Love About Lists

1: You love lists. This is a list.

2: You can share this list on Facebook, or Twitter, or Tumblr, to let everyone know that you have read a list, and that you want them to read the same list.

3: This list connects with you in some deep way, it confirms a belief you hold, or it talks about your childhood. It really does.

4: You would someday like to make a list of your own, but this list listed all the things you could ever dream of listing. Now you have more free time to read lists.

5: After you say ‘list’ a lot, it begins to sound like it’s not really a word.

6: If there were a top ten list of the top ten lists, this list would be included.

7: This top ten list is unique in that it only contains seven items.

The Decline of Walmart

A Walmart near my home recently moved to a new location in the next town over.

In the world of corporate warfare, a lateral move is an odd tactic for a sprawling empire. The retail giant has never shied away from cramming as much Walmart into the world as it can. Why go to the trouble of moving a store from one town, when it would be easier and more profitable to leave the original location, and simply open another?

For example, everyone that shops at Walmart is morbidly obese, and has anywhere from five to seven children, no older than age four. The sheer logistics of transporting the raw tonnage of just one Walmart-supporting familial unit across town and into the store is mind boggling, especially when the family knows they will be competing for items to cough on and space to sweat with hundreds of other identical individuals. It has to be difficult. Just imagine for a second. Now add five miles to the drive. If you listen closely, you can hear the ball bearings on all those 1995 Dodge Caravans quivering in terror.

Why risk discouraging these honest, blue collar, XXXL sweatshort-wearing folks from travelling to the new location by adding extra distance to their trip?

Think about it. Money, a commodity of which Walmart has an unlimited supply, would normally solve any problems the company has with legal issues, labor disputes, real estate, and of course, constructing as many Walmart stores as possible.

So, what possible problem exists that won’t go away when money is offered as the solution?

The only explanation for the relocation is this—the site is haunted. Multitudes of ghosts, uninsured and very very poor because they worked at Walmart while among the living, have taken up residence in the store. These former employee ghosts scare the children. When children get scared, they urinate and defecate everywhere. When there is liquid waste and scat everywhere, even the regulars become alarmed and the area is declared a biohazard. Not even Walmart’s fat cash stack can sop up that much bodily fluid.

Add to that the fact that no amount of money will get those ghosts to leave, because they are ghosts, and they don’t want or need money.

This is only the beginning. Look for a rising number of Walmart stores to change locale in the near future as they slowly become overrun by ethereal beings who lack the means to cure a simple cough. All the confusion and jostling around will eventually frustrate the customer base enough to give up on the beloved brand entirely, and give rise to a new dynasty waiting in the wings, a company not infiltrated by a mass paranormal invasion.

It’s all right here in this graph:

 

 

 

 

 

How I Almost Became A Pill Smurf

As was recently discussed, I quit my job, and got a different one. I can’t describe how joyous this was. Yes, the robotic management was one reason, but also, this: I almost became a pill smurf*. I was on the verge of throwing out my back, running in front of a forklift, or starting a fight with an immigrant, all on purpose, for profit.

Why?

Reason number one was to get time off work.

Reason # two(2)—>When many of your coworkers are addicted to a spread of pharm productions—uppers, downers, screamers, laughers—is there a better way to make extra money, a LOT of extra money, while dealing with the trivialities of something so minor as vertebral subluxation, forklift tire-marks on your flattened leg, or a shattered eye socket from a staged fight with good ol’ Magdaleno (Mags, for short)?

A skullet.

Answer: there is no better way. These guys are paying top dollar per ‘milly’ (milligram) for all the big names in painkilling. Let’s say I plant the warehouse manager’s skullet-comb in Magdaleno’s car and tell him he’s going to be fired for stealing. So he punches my lights out in front of the coffee machine. My face hurts. I go to the doctor. I score a Vicodin prescription. When the doctor gives me that slip of paper, he might as well be dropping a bar of gold in my lap.

That bottle of pills would have been a winning Powerball ticket in there. A month or two ago, a guy broke his leg. If he’s willing to deal with the fractured femur drug-free, and manages the sudden influx of cash responsibly, he might never have to go back to work.

If only I had the balls to do something hardcore like that, I could have auctioned those V pills off, and they would have sold like toilet paper at a butt party. Butt (pun) I didn’t. I stayed healthy, like a sucker.

Well, I’ve been screwed again, this time by my own conscience.

*I heard Jesse Pinkman say he had ‘smurfs’ buying Sudafed for him in Breaking Bad. I don’t even know if the term applies to what I’m talking about here. 

Of Course The Baby Looks Like Its Parents

“OMG, he looks just like you!”

“She’s got your eyes!”

Just a couple typical Facebook baby picture/video comments there.

From a biology standpoint, it’s pretty common for offspring to look like their parents.

We all really need to start leaving comments if the baby doesn’t look like the mother or father. It could be a great help to some couples, because I don’t want to see the wrong person duped into paying for a kid that they think they made.

“You know, he kind of has the same nose as that personal trainer that was at your Memorial Day party last year. Do you still go to that gym?”

“It’s good that Stephan has learned to walk. I noticed he’s got the same awkward waddle as your milk man, isn’t that weird?”

A lot of strife could be avoided this way.