3 Things That Bugged Me This Week

There are two competing grocery store chains near my house and I noticed over the weekend that both are selling outdoor furniture. This strikes me as odd. I mean, it’s a grocery store. When you go in to pick up a bag of low-fat sea-salt potato chips and a bottle of dandruff shampoo are you really going to impulsively drop three bills on a patio set?

Clerk: Your total is $7.59
Customer: You know what? Throw that rattan love seat in the cart as well. I can’t help myself, I love wicker.
Clerk: The chair and table come with it, they’re a set.
Customer: Perfect. I have time this weekend, when I get home I’ll build a deck to put them on.
Clerk: Would you like to make any more impulse purchases from our Shelves O’ Randomness?
Customer: Actually, now that you mention it I don’t have a Cuisinart. Ring that up along with a pack of O rings for a ’97 Dodge and a can of Star Wars mustache wax.
Clerk: Your new total is $392.84
Customer: Do you accept third-party U.S protectorate aluminum-backed checks?
Clerks: Of course.

I went through the drive through at the bank to cash a birthday check from my mom. I had already written my account number on the back so they would know they could give me the $30 with confidence, as I am a valued customer. My $27.13 checking account balance needs to count for something, right? Apparently the teller mistook the check for a signed letter of my intent to force a hostile takeover from the drive-through. She asked me my middle initial and sent a lackey out with a retinal scanner. After several more minutes I look in the window and see a second teller holding the check and gesturing wildly like she was trying to land a disabled 757 in the bank’s ATM lane. Then she saw me watching and quickly looked away, handing the check back to the original teller as if it were covered in fire ants. Several more minutes passed of the teller’s shifty eyes sneaking glances at me, a thin sheen of sweat covering her face. Her hands shook like an ancient gunslinger trying to draw for her life. Suddenly the woosh of the tube brought me my lucre. The teller threw a swift ‘thank you’ at me before collapsing and two men appeared from a back room to carry her away. I have no idea what was going on inside that bank but as I pulled away I was followed by a black sedan, a clown on a unicycle and Teri Garr in a cameo role.

There are now more people named Kardashian in the United States than people with jobs. And all of them have manifold TV shows. Why? This is your fault America. For the love of God STOP WATCHING THESE NITWITS! They’re already rich. The daughters were born that way and all you’re doing is making them RICHER! STOP IT! Go watch a re-run of Barnaby Jones or an old movie starring J-J-J-J-immy Stewart or Ken Burns’ new 27 part documentary on documentaries. Watch anything but rich people who can’t stand being away from a camera for longer than 8 seconds. Stop feeding their narcissism. It’s voracious and can never be satiated. If you’re not careful it will consume you like a serpent and you will end up inside Kim’s Brobdingnagian ass to eventually be passed in a fart during one of her monthly colonics that will be filmed by the unluckiest camera man on earth and played during a special segment of the Rachael Ray show, the daytime repository for all things useless and entertainment-free.