The only reason to go to the store is to get out of the store. Getting home with a truck load of stuff not on the lady’s list is simply expedience. That more than half is pork rinds and beef jerky… just dumb luck.
Women enjoy the whole shopping thing – snapping up bargains like they’re depriving another of the same. For men, it’s a mission: Get in. Get out. No man left behind.
And Murphy’s Law forever reigns: No matter the line you’re always behind the behind of The Biggest Loser, or some hoarder sneaking through TEN ITEMS OR LESS.
(Just how many is a six-pack? and try explaining that a state trooper.)
If nature really intended men to shop, grocery chains wouldn’t hide charcoal briquettes and flammable liquids out of season. This is America!
Departure lanes should be defined by weight (not volume) or because the ice cream is melting:
- 10 lbs or Less
- Chit-chat with Cashier Bess, and of course…
- Redneck Express
…which would be NO LIMIT: MEN ONLY.
There are plenty of lanes for gals, dudes, and gender non-specific whatevers. (If you don’t know who or what you are, lift your skirt and ask for help.) Non-men bobbing skinny jeans, man buns, or sipping diet anything get bounced by hard hats.
Shopping carts? We don’t need no stinkin’ shopping carts! Whatever can’t be lugged or packed on a mule should be left behind. All real grub is free-range anyway. Wild Twinkie is delicious.
Captured product is then dumped onto a reclaimed bowling alley (replacing the continuous conveyor) and flung past the cashier.
Now, there are two kinds of cashiers: Check ‘er out… and the rest. If she ain’t pretty, why bother? And if she is… well, you just ain’t got no chance of getting anywhere near the line, getting her number, or ever getting out.
Redneck Express demands a cashier with special talents. Behold! the auctioneer:
No bonus cards. No coupons. No Kardashian tabloids.
Grocery debris is then bulldozed down the alley, dumped in the parking lot, and shoveled into the bed of a waiting truck.
Y’don’t hafta be a redneck, but it helps.
High Noon: May 18th
I sent a man to prison – he was supposed to hang. But those liberals up north gave him own TV show. And now they set him free.
A New Hope: Yippee-Ki-Yay
CGI is no substitute for story. And all that imaginary imagery gets trampled in a whirlwind of trail dust snorting low-tech mustangs.