It is a rare occasion that I go out in public during Prime Time (the haunting hours between 1630 and 2100 weekdays and 1000-0200 weekends). I dislike crowds- especially crowds with unruly, heathen hell-spawns. Today was an exception. I desperately needed some type of allergy medication to clear my head that I originally thought was caused by general mental fog. I decided to go out to the local Wal-Mart. Even though it is a little further than Target, which is around the corner from my humble abode, I figured the money I saved was worth the distance. Always the miser. Ha.I like to think that I am fairly well-traveled. With that said, I am sure the Wal-Mart here is the same anywhere else- its own distinct subculture. Some will even contend that there is a distinct division of the social classes when compared to Target. However, the South takes this subculture to a whole new level. You see things here that you will never see in any other section of the US and Korea (in my expansive Wal-Mart visitations). Only in the South will you see:
… one shopping cart associated with an entire extended family. How is it that people feel they must bring everyone to Wal-Mart? During Prime Time? With no discernable purpose other than just being there?
…parents disciplining their children in public (of which I am a big fan and supporter). There is no waiting until getting into the family battle wagon. The leather belt or house shoe comes off in the middle of the isle, and little asses are tanned on the spot for the most frivolous infraction which caused the inconvenience to the parent or another customer. Black mothers are infamous for this. God bless them all. Others should take lessons (especially in the Pacifist Northwest) and learn that disciplining a child in public doesn’t constitute child abuse. Besides, it’s cheap entertainment.
…children walking around with no shoes and dirty, snot-encrusted faces. How a parent allows their children to be seen in public like that is beyond my feeble comprehension. I will admit to going to out here right at the ass crack of dawn with dirty hair, but at least I have the common decency to brush my fangs, wash my mug and wear a ball cap.
…people actually cruising up and down the parking lot like normal people would do on a popular drag with visual interests (like 1st Street, Jacksonville Beach, used to be before all the condos and boardwalks ousted the local dives). What is the purpose? Trust me; I am very unlikely to be impressed with you, or your jeepney, watching you lean as far back and as crooked as possible while you promenade the Wal-Mart parking lot.
…mullets. Enough said.
…some people actually dress up to come here. Now, I am not talking about people who make an honest living in the grind and have to wear monkey suits and are just in to buy a loaf of bread, a gallon of milk, and a stick of butter. I am talking about the girls who look like they are ready to hit the club. Big hair, meticulous branded clothing, and bling. Lots of it. I would sort of understand it if it was the weekend. But on a Monday afternoon? Hooker.
By this point you are probably wondering what the title of this blurb has to do with my ranting of the Wal-Mart flora and fauna. Much. I was merely setting the stage, for anyone who has never been to the dirty South (what does that mean, really?), for the crux of my babbling. I was walking in, shopping cart in tow, when I was visually confronted by a sizable ass wearing lime green catch-me-fuck-me shorts that had “JUICY” sprawled across the backside. It was like a bad accident; you couldn’t help but look. I don’t know about you, but one of the first words I would use to describe it would certainly not be “juicy”. It would be more like “free agent concubine”. Her ass was, after all, big enough to support all the words.
I never understood clothing like that. A gal with an ass that vast need not advertise it. Conversely, a gal with no ass would be a walking paradox.
Me eyes, they’re burning. Can one be cited for ocular assault?
