Tuesday, August 24, 2004
A scene from St. Johns Safeway
idnight Saturday, Molliwogg and I stop into the new Safeway in the neighborhood for some habanero's and beer (don't ask). The Safeway scene is always a little strange, a strangeness that is compounded tenfold at the witching hour. We almost immediately notice a four foot tall man holding hands with a six foot tall woman with an ass that would make J-Lo envious. I'm normally not the one to scope out women, not because I'm married but because I just don't care. To use a cliche it's what's upstairs that counts, brains (or lack thereof) can turn a babe into Minnie Pearl, and Minnie Pearl into Fairuza Balk. The point I'm trying to make is unlike Kramer, I'm not the Assman. However when you see an rear end stretching further than that of a 1950's Cadillac, it tends to catch your attention, throw in a dwarf and you can't stop looking. Then there was the Asian gangbanger boys decked out from head to toe in white. As they stood behind us in the checkout line talking amongst themselves about some fight, I couldn't help but eye the large amount of Hostess snack cakes they were purchasing. There's a story there somewhere. As we were leaving we ran across the goth couple, complete with dog collars and trench coats they only added to the flavor. Finally, midway to the car we were accosted by a guy doing the ol' "my car's run out of gas routine." He got props for staying in character while we spent a good two minutes digging up seven cents in change for his imaginary car. Somewhere in all this, a reality show is brewing.
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