Wal-Mart Sucks, Part 1
Another RANT from Lloyd, this time on…….
Originally Published December 17, 2004
Well December is in the air, and it smells like shit to me. Merry Fucking Christmas and HoHo, ho.
I hate Wal-Mart. I mean I can’t even stand to say the fucking name, so herein I’ll refer to it as Wallyworld. Mostly because I hate to type hyphens.
Now those of you who know Lloyd personally, know that I am not much of a fan of angry music. But I have come to have quite a fondness for the ravings of a certain young man from Michigan, Marshall Mathers….otherwise known by that candy-ass name of his, Eminem. I hear he has a new CD out, so I bop on down to the local Wallyworld the other day, and a few things occurred to me.
Imposing their morals on ME?!?
You cannot buy an Eminem CD at Wallyworld. At least not an unedited version. ( Now, before I get started here, I need to send out a huge, dry assfuck to Slim Shady for even allowing them (whoever the fuck THEY are) to even produce an edited version of his work. This proves yet again that it’s NOT about the art or the creation, it’s about the money, and you’re now no better than the rest of the overpaid asswipes we consider entertaining American Heroes in this country. More on that in the next Rant, I promise! ).
Yet, I can’t buy an unedited version of his CD in Wallyworld. Nor can I purchase Maxim, Stuff, FHM or Blender – all magazines that I enjoy and oogle on a regular basis. I realize that most places have already dropped the skin mags – Playboy, Penthouse, Hustler, etc., but the others are just fucking magazines with a few pin-up gals in there. Ole Lloyd buys these others as a matter of course, mostly to keep up with the latest in electronic gizmos and other things that he’ll never have a chance in hell of owning, because he’s not yet an American Hero.
So while enraged I decided to do some more browsing in Wallyworld. I can buy a purse that looks like a pair of panties. I can buy a plastic moose that shits out fecally colored jelly beans. I can buy all kinds of greeting cards that feature pin-up girls AND guys. And I can even purchase movies that feature good old T&A.
It’s selective censorship, people. Plain and simple. Cow-towing to the American Right Wing uptight assholes in this country. This isn’t a retail leader, it’s a retail sell out, and the only reason I even shop there is because Mrs. Lloyd and myself live in a little shitburg of a town with no other competition. It’s wrong, they need to stop dictating OUR choices for us, and just for good measure, dry-fuck them in their ass with a really large black dildo made of splintery plywood. There. I feel much better, even though I am beginning to sound like a certain asswipe I have recently encountered in Yahoo Chat.
Old Folks are Useless People Too
What the fuck is with the old folks who get hired to say Hello when I walk into the store? When I get into Wallyworld, I really, really want to just get in, get my shit, and get out, all while speaking to the fewest number of dumbfuck people possible. Come to think of it, this pretty much applies to anywhere Lloyd travels these days. In our local Wallyworld, the greeter is often this ancient, 105 year old woman on an oxygen tank. What do you say to these people? Dead yet? Sorry? Hello? All I know is that they are employed there, and the $4 an hour that Wallyworld pays them in an effort to appear to be a friendly store (remember these are the fucks who are making your choices for you, folks), only serves to make it so that I have to pay a fucking dollar for a roll of LifeSavers. I’d much rather have granny sitting at home doing bong hits on her nebulizer, and get my LifeSavers at a reasonable price. Selfish? Damn right it is. Looking out for numero Uno the same way Wally is. Youbetcherass.
Same shit goes for the dumbass who checks you as you leave the store. This little highligher-wielding, power-hungry sorry excuse for a human being degenerates could not possibly make an intelligent assessment of the weather outside, let alone glance at the receipt in my hand and determine whether or not I have, in fact, paid for all my purchases. It is simply not possible. Another worthless function in life. It’s an inconvenience for me, for I have already shoved the receipt into my pocket where I choose to put it…but again Wally wants to make those choices for me…so I may only choose to stuff that little piece of cheap thermo-print paper where I like once I am OUTSIDE the store. It’s frankly insulting to me, and SHOULD be insulting to Wallyworld’s cashiers as well. If they are not insinuating that all their CUSTOMERS out to rip them off, they are insinuating that their cashiers are dishonest and not ringing up all your purchases. Either that or they are too fucking stupid to swipe products across a UPC scanner and make change.
Actually, now that I think about it, maybe they have something there. I haven’t seen too many Nobel Prize Winners behind the cash register there.
Either way though, if you end up in FRONT of Ole Lloyd as you are leaving Wallyworld, you best keep moving forward. Out of the graciousness of my soul I give you an entire second to move out of my way while dealing with Highlighter Lady, or I will bust right past you and out into the real world, moving on, ready for my next adventure….. in the parking lot.
Caution – Idiocy Zone
WHAT THE FUCK is it about the parking lot at Wallyworld? It’s like whenever anyone operating a motor vehicle (or even entering/exiting the store on foot) get within 15 feet of the store, they lose all common sense and forget how things work. Perhaps they never knew. Considering MOST of the people I’ve seen shopping at Wallyworld, that’s not a bad assumption.
But PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE, people….if someone is just STANDING in front of the store, and showing no intention of walking into the parking lot whatsoever, put your fucking FOOT on the GAS and move ON. Jesus!
It’s like a goddam Mexican Standoff, the blue-haired little old lady who can’t see over the fucking dashboard anyway versus the young pants-down-around-their-ass mob who just want to stand in front of the entrance doors and get their bee-bop on….probably because it’s the single-most likely place they will BE IN THE FUCKING WAY.
I swear to God I am gonna start carrying around a can of lighter fluid and a Bic to deal with those morons the next time I have to brush by their unwashed asses to get somewhere.
In all fairness, Wallyworld is no different when it comes to the assfucks who want to hold up progress and wait for that closer parking spot. That’s fine. But do so in a manner where I can buzz around you, go to the END of the parking aisle, and be in the store before your dumb ass has the blinker on your shitty 1973 Mercury turned off. As for the morons who hold up things at the front of the aisle waiting on that coveted handicapped spot when there are spots available just two slots down, all I can say is that I hope you get out of your car and promptly get brain-raped by a van full of Jerry’s Kids, because you’re simply too fucking stupid to live.
So the next time you actually get to Wallyworld, take a look around, especially at the exit doors. You’ll see a whole hoard of mesmerized people looking down with a dumfounded look on their face, glancing down at their highlighted receipt, trying to decipher whether or not there’s a secret code to the scrawl on it. They’re moving forward hesitantly, as if they may need to run back inside and have it checked for them again. No fucking wonder.
Until next time, kiddies……..
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