Hangovers and Hate: an Easter Story
by apoxuponme
Last weekend, Easter came and went for me very quickly, much like a fart in a windstorm. During my long weekend away from work, I decided to begin drinking this new beverage called “alcohol”. I began this game with my liver on Friday night and after spending an unpleasantly long amount of time Saturday morning not remembering where I was and doing things that I only noticed that I had done when I woke up at 1:30pm Sunday, I began the trek of Easter hating, oh my brothers let me tell you.
Like many of the other hungover idiots on Easter Sunday with only 2 brain cells working properly, I took myself off to the local A&P to stock up on my usual weekly foods. Unbeknownst to me, the A&P decided to celebrate the savage murder and then miraculous resurrection of Jesus Christ by keeping such wonders as Hot Pockets and Kraft Dinner away from me by closing their doors all day. The door to the A&P that had always opened for me automatically as I walked towards it (just like in Star Trek) would not open in that magic way that always makes me happy. I tried to get in many times, but my resistance was futile however at the A&P, so I went home and played with myself for a while. After the lovemaking was over, I got a little sleepy, so I took a nap. This was all done in the name of Jesus, of course.
Two hours later, with my fridge empty, I went off to the only place in the entire city still open; Sam’s Variety, which is very much like a place open all the time because it’s open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Sam doesn’t go into that Jesus nonsense. He actually put up a temporary sign in the parking lot that said “We open! Jesus died and we still open! Ham/.89 100g”. I thought the sign was nice. Mostly because I like ham, but also because I like signs… and Jesus… But mostly ham. Actually, just the ham.
So, all the idiots in the area like me that didn’t know the A&P was closed because of Jesus converged on Sam’s Variety like flies to a shit. I walk in and there are all the typical annoying idiots everywhere! You couldn’t swing a dead cat around and not hit an annoying person. Allow me to recall this sea of humanity to you:
Lotto Fever Grandma
We all know this person. They look like they could be between 70 and 300 years old and they buy lottery tickets at all variety stores in the world. Oh man, do they buy lottery tickets! They will win the lotto. Oh, yes they will. They are just not trying hard enough! Screw you, Grandma!!! Now, I can understand that these old people that don’t work anymore have very little to do and their lives are empty, their children have forgotten them and that is all rather sad and pitiful. They spend their days feeding their 16 cats and other things like “soak their corns” (a statement that still to this day I don’t understand and gives me nightmares) but, if I were an old person, I wouldn’t never hold up the damn line for so long like they always do, the wrinkly, dusty old bitches!
“Hurr, I am going to go to a crowded variety store and spend 6 minutes holding up the line so I can buy 44 lotto numbers, 10 scratch and win tickets and, oh! Lan Sakes! Look, I have extra change in the bottom of my billfold. Just let me count it all out for you slowly and carefully! Give me 3 more scratch offs, and 5 of those pull and wins! Oh, lookee here, I won 5 dollars on this one! Holy shit! Give me 3 more scratch offs and 2 more lotto numbers instead of the money. Fiddlesticks! The bees knees! Oh my stars! Knee slappin’! Lan Sakes! That’s it for me for today I think. I will now spend 45 seconds putting all these tickets in my special blue lotto booklet that I bought only recently with my winnings! Anyway, I am off to be neglected and abused. Bye!”
Go somewhere and die, ya old bag!!!
The Little Buggers
The Buggers are all around us. They are the kids that you have seen and experienced at Sam’s or any other variety store. On average 13 years old, The Buggers constantly go to the variety stores of the world like an obedient slave, not unlike the ones from “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom”, to appease their mother/masters and to win the prize of sugar. Constantly scurrying between Sam’s Variety and their home with orders from their couch ridden welfare mothers with specific missions such as “Mission 12: Ham Delivery” and “Project: pack-o-smokes and a coke”. For their much needed trips, Mom allows them a ration of spare change from aforementioned purchase to do whatever The Little Buggers want to do. This ration is why The Little Buggers do such menial and humiliating tasks, since they have not grown old enough or smart enough to actually save the money so they can buy weed from their cousins yet. It is the only allowance they are allowed in their home lives, so, like brainless retarded robots, they run off to Sam’s, with visions of Neon Chupa Chup’s, gummy worms and candy shaped like cigarettes dancing in their heads. Every time I have been in Sam’s picking up my ham, The Little Buggers have been there and the situation always goes the exact same way;
BuggerA with friend BuggerB that he picked up on his way to Sam’s with the invitation of “Hey! Goin’ to da store! Come on! Hurry up, you assnut!” go to Sam’s and BuggerA purchases ordered mission objective from BuggerA’s Mom (example: Carton of Lucky Strikes, one Slim Jim, a pail of cat litter and Cheeze Whiz). Meanwhile, BuggerB does some recon at the much hallowed candy isle of Sam’s, full of lovely Neon Chupu Chup’s, Pixie Stix and tiny ice cream cones full of molasses. After the mission objective is completed the idiots leave and stand outside the door, with their bikes still lying right in front of the entrance and blocking entry and exit for everyone. BuggerA and B have council and long talk is made. After much deep thought, enlightenment is achieved and BuggerA goes about calculating how the 2 dollars change can best be wasted. In their excitement and stupidity, they will until the end of time constantly miscalculate and bring up too much candy while someone like me is waiting in line and the employee working at the time (most likely named Sam) tells them “Ewtake dit ew gonow pay bak rest lader!” Which I am sure in Arabic means “I will say anything to get you little Buggers out of the damn store.”
Assholes!
The Beuferd(s)
Beuferd, of the Oxford Street Beuferd’s, came to Sam’s Variety on this particular Easter Sunday the same time as me to order meat. Now, I don’t blame him for this. Not only is Sam’s Variety a variety store, it has an unusually excellent deli counter. Fleshly cut sandwich meats from Sam’s is as good and affordable as any deli counter this side of the Mississippi and all points east, but when you come into a crowded Sam’s that is full of idiots that didn’t know about everything being closed because of the murder of Jesus, you don’t, I repeat, you do not order 5 slices of ham, 8 slices of cheese, and then decide after the employee working (most likely named Sam) has taken off his sanitary plastic gloves that you want to “TRY OUT!” a few slices of Montreal Smoked Meat because you’ve heard good things. Beuferd, you deserve to have your kneecaps dislocated for this blatant disregard for humanity. Your taste buds do not deserve to experience Sam’s award winning Montreal Smoked Meat. Why? Because you are holding us up! Me, Grandma Lotto, Bugger A and B are all getting bored waiting in line shoplifting Snickers bars and condoms while Sam had his back turned as he is slicing up tasty cold meats from parts unknown!
You want meat Beuferd? Well, you can eat me, Beuferd! How do you like those apples?!
Jesus loves you.
Note – This article was originally published on the old Winterwind Productions site in April, 2005, prior to our switch to WordPress in 2020.
Est. and online since 2003!
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