Ernest Goes Skateboarding

Old Man: "I'm looking for that Ernest movie... mmm... Ernest..."

Me: "Goes to Camp? In The Army? Scared Stupud?"

Old Man: "No, what was it? ...OH! Ernest Goes Skateboarding! Do you have Ernest Goes Skateboarding?"

Me: "Well, we have the previously mentioned Ernest movies, a handful of Mountain Dew commercials from the 80's (because of YouTube), but Goes Skateboarding? No... that doesn't exis... okay you know what? Blockbuster Video will most certainly have Ernest Goes Skateboarding! Yeah, go there"

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Sorry for the looooong delay... things got monotonous.
More to come.

I will sue you for this MJ CD

This is just a quick thing that I HAD to post.

A mentally challenged man purchased a $7 Michael Jackson CD the other day. It skipped a bit; it happens. It's defective. But we have a no refund policy, and I offered to exchange it. Cool.

He would not hear it, and gave me three options:
1. "Give me my money back"
He's pretty rude right off the bat, so I refuse.
2. "I never come here again"
Totally cool, I like that option. Please don't return.
3. "I sue"
... (I snicker) How will you be going about that? I'm sure every lawyer will take that case regarding a $7 Michael Jackson CD.

He then proceeded to creep out a 10 year old boy by commenting on how polite he was, then patting him on the back. I apologized to the kid, who then acknowledged my apology because he was obviously a smart kid.

Up until this point, my day was going pretty well.

The only way this can get worse is if the kid's parents stop by tomorrow.
I'll hope for the best.

12 step program

1. Announce your presence.

2. Apologize for announcing your presence.

3. Admit you're an alcoholic.

4. Announce that your girlfriend is pissed off at you.

5. Pick up random country music CD.

6. Announce that everyone here is your friend.

7. Repeat #2

8. Repeat #3

9. Purchase said country music CD.

10. Repeat #4

11. Pull up pants.

12. Leave.

If this sounds like you, please go to your local liquor store as soon as possible for immediate help.

A phone call from Dr. Evil

The phone rings ominously.

I answer slowly "Hell... ooo?"

A familiar voice comes across the line. "Yees, I am looking for a particular recording of the music of a program entitled" (increasingly evil now) "Brideshead Revisited".

I do my homework, it exists, but is only sought out by those whom which North Americans humorously refer to as "Pip".

It's not currently available, we, as a used store only, can not special-order it, and Dr. Evil's reaction to this is particularly evil:

"Welll... what good are you then?"

Ummm... I explain again, perhaps he can purchase this online, or go to a number of stores which in fact do special ordering.

Slightly less evil now, but ever-so-snooty:

"Buy online? I'm not stupid" Because Dr. Evil has no time for stupidity, but will clearly hand me his credit card which is then processed through the same internet of which Amazon uses, "Why can't you just order it?"

Of course the damn thing is out of print, I explain a third time. Back to full on evil again:

"Welll, I shall have to go and spread the wonderful news then, shouldn't I?"

I'm concerned that the world might blow up now if I don't give him 100 million dollars, but rather I explain that he'll have the same kind of luck trying to buy a Big Mac at an Arby's restaurant.

At this point he hangs up, but we all know that such evil knows no boundaries and will surely return. When? Where? We can never be fully prepared.
Godspeed, or something.

Racism: it's about the pride?

It's really hot outside, the a/c is blasting, but I turn it down a tad so that maybe the ladies can check out my Old Spice deodorant a bit more. I'm on a horse.

Once I get off my horse, a man walks up. He's very friendly, has some tattoos like everyone else, and we exchange pleasantries, like in Victorian times. Although lame, I quickly realize that maybe I'm suffering from heat-stroke and quickly turn the a/c back up and drink some water.

Still somewhat dehydrated, I find myself deep in the South of the United States. It's scary, and the man offers to sell me his slave. Also, he asks if we have any music by bands such as Berserker, Patriotic Front, or White American Youth, while a truck with a huge lighted cross on the front zooms by.

The Klan. I'm starting to notice KKK people wandering around. They're eying my horse with slack-jawed grins beneath their hoods.

I decline the slave offer, but humor him to confirm that we don't have those bands, ever.

"Well" he attempts to assure me that all is fine & normal "Those bands aren't about the hate, really." I'm glad to hear that, and he continues "They're really just about the pride, and they really rock!".

Increasingly surrounded by the KKK yet undeterred, I try to get a closer look at his tattoos, but to no avail. They look like faded prison tattoos, so I can only assume they're just as racist as this guy is trying not to seem.

Things are getting pretty tense now; I had no time to take a shower this morning, and I'm wondering if they're beginning to notice the scent of my liberalism beneath the Old Spice.

Everyone knows that the KKK rapes & eats horses three times per day, which is exactly what they just did to my horse. I need a plan, quick, and wonder if perhaps now's the time to hitch a ride on a northbound Jesus truck.

Baltimore. I need to get to Baltimore asap. I'll be safer there, and my friends can find me on Google Street View.

This truck doesn't have a big cross on the front, so it's the first one I flag down. There's a man driving, along with him is his son.

"Daddy" the son asks while drinking a large can of Red Bull "who's that war hero? ...you know..." and before the father can get half way through "Patton", the son cuts in suddenly "Hitler, I knew it was Hitler" There's a pause.

My horror movie-like concern is escalating just as I notice the customs slip in the console. It's for fresh produce. This is a good sign.

"No son, it was General Patton" the father speaks up. I'm relieved, and only more so when I realize this truck is hauling lemons & oranges up to the vast barstools of Canada.

Now, most certainly in safe territory, I spot a dumpster, then a junk filled shopping cart, a corpse, I'm in Baltimore.

I'm safe with Bubs once again, listening to Eminem.