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12:52 p.m. - 2001-08-16

SHOPPING WITH EDWEIRD

It's been ten years since "Smells Like Teen Spirit" came out.

Christ.

I am SOOOO old...


I think that Sneezy across the hall from me may be allergic to my candle.

I've got a big assed French Vanilla candle in my office that I light on occasion. It's a strong candle, it makes the entire side of the building smell like Willy Wonka's Whorehouse.

So I just got back from lunch and lit it.

A minute later, Sneezy starts going to town on the phlegm slinging.

"HAAAAAA-CHOOOOOO!!"

"HAAAAAA-CHOOOOOO!!"

"HAAAAAA-CHOOOOOO!!"

I finally blew the damned thing out and he stopped.

In a way, this is kinda a cool experiment. Kinda like Pavlov's Dog ... light the candle ... Sneezy sneezes his sinuses inside out. Blow the candle out...he stops.

Awesome.

I guess if I ever get really tired/bored, I can just light the candle and El Sneezeroo will wake me up.

I'll keep that in mind.


Went to the mall with Edweird for lunch.

(BTW...this is REALLY Edweird's Diary. This is not some new diary that I've started to fuck with people's minds. It's really him, girls!)

We ate at the Food Court which is about as much fun as hammering carrots up your ass. We both picked Chick Fil-A who gave us superb service in mere seconds. Before the guy could give me change back from a $20, I had my food in my hand.

THAT'S quick.

Of course, he gave me some little thing to call some 800 number and take a survey on how great the service was.

That's what I thought. It was a PLOY!! The one time I go to Chick Fil-A and get treated like a human being rather than a deformed ape, it's only because they want me to call the Headquarters and talk some positive smack about their service.

Well guess what, Minimum Wage Boy? I MIGHT just call them and tell them that I've had better service from a dead whore than I got at your store.

I might.

I'll tell ya what...I'm tempted alright.

It could happen.

Watch out.

I'm dangerous with an 800 number and an attitude, meestah.


We went to the mall because Edweird needed to buy an Anniversary card for his girlfriend. They've been together one year today.

All together now...."AWWWWWwwwwwww!"

I'll tell ya what...Hallmark makes this anniversary difficult.

A) They're not married. Damned near every Hallmark Anniversary card uses some form of the word "Married" in it.

B) There's absolutely no card that expressed how Edweird feels in a language that he's comfortable with.

If there was a card that read "Goddamn...when you fuckin' let me move in with your ass, that was about the best goddamned thing that ever happened to my motherfucking sorry ass. I mean...shit bitch...I just want you to fucking understand...I fucking love every hole on your fucking body."

...And then you open it up and it would say "Now get on your knees and slob on my knob, Princess Skanka!"

I mean...that's an Edweird card to a T.

Unfortunately, Hallmark hasn't caught up to the phenomenon that is Edweird-speak.

So he got a generic looking card that said something along the lines of "You make my day special."

I'm pretty sure he's down in the dumps over it.

He really needs to think about starting his own greeting card company.


We then went to Sam Goody's.

The young man who's using Sam Goody's as a stepping stone to bigger and better things like working at McDonald's someday greeted us at the door.

"Can I he'p you find somethin'," he said, hand resting comfortably on the gun shoved down the front of his pants.

"Yes, my good man," I said. "Point me in the direction of some good old fashioned white music."

The guy was stumped.

Y'see...as it turns out...there's not a single white person in popular music anymore.

Oh sure...you've got your teen pop idols. And Melissa Etheridge.

But that's it. He and I walked up and down each aisle...we couldn't find any white boy music ANYWHERE.

He was pulling out shit like Snoop Doggy Dogg...

"Snoop's kinda white," he tried to tell me.

Take that propaganda bullshit back to the hood, Gee. Snoop's blacker than all of South Compton during a rolling blackout.

Don't get me wrong...I dig me some funky fresh rap tunes every now and then. I'm down with Ashford and Simpson. I came to party with Lionel Richie. On a good day, you might find me all up in some of Diana Ross and the Supremes' bullshit.

But today...I just wanted white boy music.

He finally found one disc.

Insane Clown Posse.

Hello?

These guys make Satan look like a choirboy.

They were all "Twistid" or some shit. Look like they took one toke too many off the ol' crack pipe.

"You wanna hear it?" the young man asked.

"Yeah sure," I said, figuring I had a few minutes to kill.

My word.

These Posse fellows...they sure are an angry duo.

In the space of 30 seconds, they warned me that if I wasn't "down with the clown" I was gonna have my ass shot up like a tin can on a fence and that I could blow their mama if I didn't like it.

Goodness.

Please, young man...take that disc off at once. It's making my brain all crazy-wazy. I don't want to be down with a clown right now. I have to go back to work.

We left without purchasing anything. I was tempted to get all up in some Wu-Tang Clan shiznit, but I think there's some kind of rule that states you can't buy Wu-Tang discs, you must shoplift them.

And dammit all to hell, wouldn't you know that I wore my tight corduroys today. The ones that show off my timid bulge? There was no way I could jam that disc in my pants...they were already too tight as it is!

So we left.

Oh yeah! In the DVD section of the store, as Edweird walked by, I said loudly "HEY EDDIE! THEY'VE GOT THAT "GIRLS GONE WILD" VIDEO THAT YOU WANTED HERE! AND IT'S ON DVD!!"

Edweird wasn't impressed.

Left and strolled past a shoe store and saw what has to be the ugliest goddamned pair of shoes I've ever seen.

They were orange vinyl Nikes. Bright orange. Neon fucking orange. Gang member orange. Gang member who ain't got nothin' better to do than pop a cap in your ass, sit back and groove to some Wu-Tang orange.

We looked at the shoes for a second and homeboy in the store thought he might have himself a sale.

Yeah, G. This 39 year-old fat balding white fucker wants a pair of these fly shoes that look like traffic cones strapped to his feet. Oh yeah. That'll impress the shit outta the boss back at the office. I'll get a raise for sure when he sees what a snappy dresser I REALLY am.

You wacky kids today and your crazy styles.

Twenty years from now, you'll all look back at pictures of yourselves and say "I pierced my WHAT?!?"

Fools.

Dare I say...MORTAL fools?!?


Came back to the office, fired off some nasty emails to customers who shoulda responded to my emails by now, but haven't then I wrote this garbage.

That's my day so far.

Hope you enjoyed it.

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