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.

Sir

Hello children, you have to be 18 years of age to sell stuff here. Oh it's your father.

You, sir, require proper photo ID to sell stuff here on behalf of your daughters... sir.

You, Sir, Can not have your daughters sign for you, you see, sir, it's just not in the best interest of the municipal government, sir. You are pure evil for trying that cock-shit on my honky ass.

Yes, you & your daughters are very well behaved. Oh and sir, I'd almost think they where brought up in some kind of a Christian home, sir, however when you weren't looking I showed them some Slayer albums. It was pretty sweet, sir; their eyes lit up like Satan's eyes.

Ok goodbye sir, and we'll see you on the National Day Of Slayer, June 6. Bring your daughters.

Lame-ass movies

Dear Clients,

I have a problem with your taste in movies; they're all very lame. All you seem to buy & sell is Twilight, Ninja Assasin, Epic Movie, & Wrestlemaniac.

While there is nothing technically wrong with this, and you're entitled to your freedom of choice, it's still completely lame. For the same price of any DVD, you can see A Serious Man, Zombieland, Men Who Stare At Goats, or Hurt Locker.

I know were are only weeks away from being flooded with Avatar, and while it's a very entertaining movie, it's also a James Cameron movie. This means it's totally fucking lame, with excellent visual effects, minus a naked Kate Winslet.

What you need to do is ignore the movies that the TV tells you to see. Instead, read in to it a bit, think for yourself. Oh, so you have kids? Maybe No Country For Old Men ain't for the early Friday evening so much, sure, so maybe try Wall-E. It's surprisingly good, and when your puke-factories go to bed, you can watch some serious quality art.

Children of the world, vazzup?

Children of the world, as always, I encourage you to watch the Bruno movie, explore your sexuality, especially if you're Austrian, and use the word "retard" as often as possible.

Not to mention inappropriate touching and masturbation.

Porn though? Don't bother, that shit died with VHS.

That aside, a mother of two allows her 8 & 10 year old children to pick a movie for the evening. The children pick Bruno, which I immediately rave about due to its total awesomeness. However, my ability to see the future is kicking in; there is an angry phone call coming from an angry parent, tomorrow, first thing. (blah blah my kids know about anal sex now and we haven't had "the talk" yet blah blah grade 4)

Like time travelling and killing Hitler before WWII, I have to stop, look at the mother who just handed her kid a twenty dollar bill and say "Hey, you haven't see this, have you" and naturally "no" she hasn't. And then she gets it.

"Kid... young child" (me seeming wise, like Yoda or Kyle from South Park) "if you turn 18 and graduate high school, life gets soo much better, trust me, it's worth the wait".

This is what makes my job so... job-like.

(smiley face here)