120 lines
7.4 KiB
Plaintext
120 lines
7.4 KiB
Plaintext
s$
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$$ .d""b. .d""b. HOE E'ZINE #1003
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[-- $$""b. $$ $$ $$ $$ -- ------------------------------------------- --]
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ss$$ "Christmas in Alabama"
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ AKA Mexican Wonderland
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$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ by Christopher Crowe [1/22/00]
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[-- $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ -- ------------------------------------------- --]
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$$ $$ "TssT" "TssT"
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I'm not racist, mind you, I like the Taco Bell dog as much as the
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next guy. But Mexicans have taken over here. The local WAL-MART looks
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more like beans and rice. I guess it's the chicken plants. Or
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agriculture. Mexicans can farm like no bodies business. I picked up a
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stuffed fish, kind of like a teddy bear type Deal, but it's a fish. You
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know, for red necks. I'm getting this thing as a gag gift for my
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wife's... something or another kind of relative. It gets complicated.
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Her Mother's sister's brother's cousin's uncle but-not-really kind of
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shit.
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We stroll on, with this huge fish, I mean in excess of 3 feet, in
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our cart to browse for other Gifts. We are browsing through the
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electronics section, trying to find a CD for my younger brother and a
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clump of Mexicans (I'm sure there legal, green card carrying citizens and
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all) walk by pointing and giggling at my fish. I can imagine their
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thoughts. Look at these rednecks. Buying stuffed fish. Hey Horehay,
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check out these hill billies buying stuffed fish. Well, you can measure
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IQ by the number of teeth a person has, especially in the south. And the
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only person with less teeth than a fool blown red neck (also known as
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white trash) is Mexicans. That big wide jawed gap toothed grin bearing
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down on us. And I remember what the locals call this WAL-MART: "Mexican
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Wonderland". One thing you can be sure of, if you see a car-load of
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Mexicans in Alabama, they're going to WAL-MART. But then again, they are
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used fitting the whole family in one tiny space. Enough about Mexicans.
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They make good tacos.
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I waited too late to start my Christmas shopping. I do it every
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year. I don't know why, I just always find a way to put it off till the
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last minute. I guess I like those cheap gifts you only find at the check
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out counters at Christmas time. WAL-MART in the south is like a Mall.
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Even though we have a huge mall, most people Prefer Mexican Wonderland.
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You get to learn Spanish while you shop. A few nights ago I decide to
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try and finish up my Christmas shopping and go to WAL-MART late at night.
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A time usually reserved for the kind of freakos you end up reading about
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in the papers. You see them talking to brooms and mop buckets. And when
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they see you, they have this conversation with themselves trying to build
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up the nerve to talk to you. So you run quickly to the soap isle. Which
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those kind of weirdo's have a real aversion, too. Here I score me a
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X-Mas gift for my Wife's mom. Some frog shaped bathroom stuff. Soap
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holder, soap dispenser and something else made of frog. Or looks like
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one anyway. I think the animal rights people would bitch if it was made
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from real frog. Hopefully they tested it on frogs at least. I want to
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know its safe enough for my loved ones.
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Right about now I've got these gas pangs in my gut. Crystals
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(White Castle's to you Northern Folk) is the only thing open here after
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2 am. The only problem is this is a soy patty, 2 inch square with
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mustard, unions and cheese. And I'm lactose intolerant. I'm looking
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left, and right and finally feel that I'm safe to make a break. Good
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thing I'm on the toy isle. It already smells like baby shit. I rattle
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some toys, pressing all the "try me" buttons I can find and let her rip.
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Still some old lady gives me the look. So I ask here if she has any
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extra depends. She wasn't amused. When she walked away I nearly died
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laughing. I've always wanted to say that.
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I finally get most of my items selected and packed into my buggy.
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I decide I'm out of a few personal affects so I stroll over to the
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Pharmacy section. Shampoo, Toothpaste, Arm Pit smelly stuff (you know,
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the stuff that leaves a white trail, keeps you smelling fresh, and the
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guy on isle 13 is deathly afraid of) and other essentials. And I
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remember I've had jock itch for about 3 weeks. Guys, you know where I'm
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coming from. Buying something to take care of this manly problem is more
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embarrassing than buying rubbers or tampons. Still, the itch has got to
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stop. So I'm bent over, reading labels on these fine hygiene products
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when the finest midnight clerk I've ever seen walks down the isle, asking
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if she can help me find something. I've got a can of Gold Bonds in my
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hand, and a spray bottle of Tuff Action Tinactin (For Jock Itch) in the
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other hand. I might as well have wet myself and went and chatted up my
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good friend on isle 13.
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To add insult to injury, just before she walked over, Crystals had
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more of its revenge upon my digestive system. So it really smells like
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Anus over here. I figure, fuck it. "Hey, this should be cleared up in
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2-3 weeks according to this can, want to go get a movie or dinner at the
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end of next month?" I think she saw through me. She just laughed and
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went about her business. Or maybe it was the smell, I dunno. But she
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hauled ass outta there. I decide on the Tinactin. I've used it on my
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Athletes foot, and I trust it to work on my Athletes balls. Which,
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around Christmas time, I gingerly refer to them as jingle bells.
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So, now to check out. I scratch my nads a couple times, expunge
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some gas (as I pass my friend on Isle 13, I figure he wouldn't notice,
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and if he did, would probably revel in the funk) and head for the check
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out. Only 2 or 3 people in the few open lines. This should be quick. I
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push my buggy up to the next open lane and start unloading my goods. The
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girl behind the counter looks up at me and smiles. Now at first glance
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this girl is cute. Nice rack, cute face. Red Neck / White Trash bleach
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blonde hair. But in that moment when she smiles, you might as well have
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taken dead skin and wrapped it around rotting meat. Quick tooth count
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reveals an IQ of 5, maybe 6. And the ones that are left are gangly,
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yellow and crooked. And she's wearing a Santa outfit. This girl really
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embodies the image I want when I think about Christmas. She could scare
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children and small animals. So, she's checking through my stuff, at an
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ever increasingly slow pace when she gets to my nut spray.
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Figures, the damn thing has no price tag. I said I'd go get
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another one, but this IQ impaired lass decides to save me the trouble and
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call a price check. "I need a price check on Tuff Actin Tinactin on
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register 9" she sez. I relax. Most people think its foot powder.
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Everyone gets athlete's foot. After a few seconds, a voice over the
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intercom. "Did you need the price for the Jock Itch or Athlete's foot
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Joe-Lynn?" the red neck asks. Thanks, smart guy. "The jock itch, Bubba"
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she replies while giving me that polite, uncomfortable look you give
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someone when you ask about their dead mother. Merry freakin' Christmas
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you red necks. Tell Bubba and his little brother Junior and their Daddy
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Bubba Junior I said drop dead. I leave Mexican Wonderland and remember
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just how happy I am that I don't deal with customers anymore.
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[-------------------------------------------------------------------------]
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[ (c) HOE E'ZINE -- http://www.hoe.nu HOE #1003, BY CROWE - 01/22/00 ]
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