UnBooks:One Fine Day at the Market

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6 November 2006

edit One Fine Day at the Market

A heart-wrenching tale depicting man's plight; love that cannot be had, feelings that can never be revealed, and rashes that cannot be itched.

edit Chapter one: the Entrance

I stepped into the supermarket through the automatic doors; you know, the ones that you can pry open with your bare hands when they're broken and feel totally badass about having just done it. The aisles of goods are on the other side of the checkout lines from where I entered. I tucked and rolled into a display case of Mike's Hard Lemonade, because I didn't want to be seen. Not this early in the game.


I browsed the aisles for anything that caught my fancy. I learned a lot just by my perusal of wares. Did you know that they sell goat eyes at Hannaford? If you did, then you're a GOD DAMNED LIAR. Of COURSE they don't have goat eyes at Hannaford. This is New York, not fucking Tehran, you weirdo. Stop trying to impress people by being aware of obscure specialized goods that are sold by various convenience store chains.

edit Chapter two: Love lost, never found

I made my way to the pharmacy counter. I looked at the condom packages that they keep near the counter. This is because condom packages are goddamn hilarious. Trojans in particular have especially whimsical diagrams on them, with the most humorously drawn penises that I have ever had the privilege of laughing at. As if penises weren't funny enough, they then depict them being clad with their product, which, when drawn like that, is intensely amusing. Once I grew bored of giggling at contraceptives, I approached the woman at the counter. I knew she had been watching me peruse the condoms and laughing. She was thinking that I was immature. Well, she's right. But then again, every man with a sense of humor anywhere near as broad as mine would laugh at those condoms, so BACK OFF. If I'm immature for laughing at those, then so are countless other males my age and older that are otherwise mature in other aspects. At least I'm mature enough to realize the extent of my own maturity.


So I go up to her, and she says "Can I help you?" I reply, "Yes. I was wondering, how far do the Magnum condoms stretch?" She kind of stared at me for a second, when I realized that I was staring at the most beautiful woman who had ever existed in the history of the most beautiful women who had ever been recognized by society as the most beautiful women that they had ever seen. Her upper lip was gently stippled with light brown hair, her nose the length of a AA battery. Her eyebrows were bushier than Don King's hair after he slept on it funny and he had gone to bed right after taking a shower. She had a boil directly on the tip of her chin. She was my Venus, and I her Vulcan, the lamed Roman God of the forge, to whom she was married to but frequently cheated on him with other Gods because VENUS WAS A GOD DAMN SLUT WHO WOULD TURN TRICKS FOR A HANDFUL OF OLIVES.


"I'm not sure how far. Why do you ask?" my gorgeous mistress queried. "I want to see if I can fit myself inside of one giant condom, and then use it as my own personal bubble." I responded smartly. I gazed into her crossed eyes. One eye looked back at me and the other looked at the 3 for 1 sale on Russell Stover chocolates. "Kiss me, you rogue", she growled sensually over the counter as she leaned closer to me.


I slapped her in the face with a milk carton and ran. I heard her scream "I NEED A BLACK MAN!" as I fled. I realized that we had more in common than I had previously thought, for I, too, needed a Nubian Prince I could call my own and to give adorable pet names like "Butterscotch", and "Cocoa-Kisses" to.

edit Chapter three: Nature's wrath

I rounded into the natural foods section. When no one was looking, I poured a box of Mueslix in my slacks. You should try it sometime. Either way, I trotted on into the frozen foods aisle, my pants full of fiber and whole grain. There I saw a woman with a shopping cart filled with nothing but frozen waffles. She was also completely covered in aphids. As I passed her, I nodded to her and said "Good day, ma'am". She screamed "DEAR LORD I'M COVERED IN APHIDS WHY WHY AM I COVERED IN APHIDS OF ALL THE INSECTS IN NATURE'S KINGDOM". I tripped her and stole her purse. Come on, what was she going to do about it? Throw aphids at me? Please. I think I can handle that. After having been covered in wasps, I can handle some damn aphids. A freaking ladybug could kill them.


As I waltzed into the produce section, I had an orgasm of epic proportions. The cereal in my pants cemented together into a conglomerate of nutritious man-seed. I stopped and gawked in awe at the mound of pomegranates that was in the center of the room.

I FUCKING LOVE POMEGRANATES.

I dove into them. I got the idea from watching Ducktales. You know, like when Scrooge McDuck dives into his vault of money? Just like that, except without the bastard triplets. I filled my shirt with them and kept walking. I overheard a few people saying that I looked just like John Goodman, but I think I was more of a Chris Farley. Man, that Chris Farley (PBUH) was a funny fella. I'd do him. Okay, maybe if he lost 10 pounds first. I don't roll with fatties. At least, not MALE fatties. I little extra meat on a woman is a good thing, y'know? I suddenly notice that they were playing that one song that was called "Saturday Night" on the loudspeakers. It goes, "S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y... NIGHT" a lot. I like that song. It reminded me of those lovely star-studded Autumn evenings, when me and my French poodle, Arthur, would go clubbing. I would wear my argyle sweater and linen culottes, and Arthur would wear the night gown my mother was buried in. We'd find a drunk chick and dance the night away, listening to Men Without Hats and Journey. We'd usually end up in a dumpster with incisions in our sides. Of course, the joke was on the women; we didn't have any more kidneys to sell on the black market after the first two times that had happened. I longed for those days. I also decided that I needed a shopping cart.

Winkelwagen

Forsooth, a shopping cart; how precious it is.

edit Chapter four: The lonely road

I took the aphid lady's shopping cart and dumped all the waffles on some little kid. I think he died. Whatev. I had a shopping cart, anyway. No jury would in the world would convict me. So I loaded that bad boy up and went to the dairy section. Once I got there, I saw an unattended cart. If only I had been a bit closer to it before I took Madame Aphid's cart, that kid would still be alive. Shame on all of you. I peered into the cart, and just as I suspected, someone had left a perfectly good baby in the little infant seat of the cart. He was about 28 pounds, had 3 teeth, and a 3 foot wide mustache with Fig Newton crumbs in it. I screamed "CLEAN YOURSELF UP YOU SLOVENLY URCHIN", and licked the right side of his face. He didn't really mind. In fact, he gave me his mother's checkbook. Serves her right for leaving her beautiful hairy baby on his own in the dairy section. Who knows what kind of Calcium-loving pervert could have done to him? I picked out some cottage cheese and detonated it with a plastique explosive. Cottage cheese tastes horrible. That's why I blew it up. So no one could make me eat it.


As I made it into the feminine hygiene section, I met a woman who was about 5 feet tall and had a head the size of John Lennon. I said to her, "You know, I don't really like dressing on my salads. Ranch is decent, but it just overpowers the vegetables." She swiveled her monstrous noggin and faced me. She opened her gaping face and screeched, "I MENSTRUATE RANCH DRESSING." Now I don't like ranch dressing at all. I took that as my cue to leave. From there, I went to the magazine aisle. A man was there, reading Popular Mechanics. He obviously didn't know that the only reason Mechanics was so popular in the first place was because he made out Sally Cohen in 8th grade. Of course, everyone knew that Sally like TOTALLY stuffed her bra, but no one cared, because she was still hot with her A-cups and Lisa Frank brand rainbow tiger folders.


I edged up to him and asked, "Hey, why did the chicken cross the road?" A puzzled look appeared on his face and he said, "I'm not sure. Why DID the chicken cross the road?" I replied "BECAUSE SNAPE KILLS DUMBLEDORE!" The man killed himself with a can of cool whip and his body turned into a mound of discarded AOL version 8.0 demo discs. I took one, because it seemed like a pretty good bargain at the time. I mean, 1024 hours of free dial-up? Sounds too good to be true. I even get their free email and parental control services, so I can keep my illegitimate kids from going to educational websites. I use it as a drink coaster now.

edit Chapter five: Vengeance at last

My shopping was complete. I made my way to the 10 items or less lane and knocked over an elderly woman. I dumped the huge amount of pomegranates on the conveyor belt and waited. The cashier said, "Sir, you have more than 10 items. Please go to the regular checkout line." I just yelled "RAPE" at the top of my lungs until she helped me. I rang the "excellent service" bell. You ring it when you have received excellent customer service. That being the case, I felt compelled to use it. But, to my dismay, thousands of hedgehogs poured out of the bell. There had been a very large Hedgehog hive in the bell, and I didn't see it. I knew that the only way to keep those hogs of shrubs from destroying mankind was to burn down the supermarket. Which I did.I will not be returning to that particular supermarket, because I burned it down. I bathed in the ashes, my skin darker than Wesley Snipes' asshole after sitting on an ink pad.


The moral of the story:

Now, the world don't move to the beat of just one drum, What might be right for you, may not be right for some. A man is born, he's a man of means. Then along come two, they got nothing but their jeans.

But they got, Diff'rent Strokes. It takes, Diff'rent Strokes. It takes, Diff'rent Strokes to move the world.

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