Today, in a retail store located either in South Vegas or North Henderson, I'm not sure which, I saw a woman sitting on a bench next to the restrooms cutting her toenails. She was clipping her fuck-forsaken toenails in public! What possessed her to do such a thing? What foot emergency compelled her to think, "I can't walk another step with these long toenails. Oh, thank Jesus, here's a bench for me to park my shriveled carcass and pollute the floor with my thick yellow toenail clippings,"? Allow me to report that this lady's toes looked like the Crypt-Keeper's fingers. I inadvertently looked at them and immediately belched up something I ate six months ago. Then for some reason my hair started falling out, so I literally ran away from her.
Why do a growing number of doucheholes treat public spaces as their own private shithouse? These oblivious twits pick their noses, scratch their asses, grab their crotches, and rip farts that smell like someone set a bag of vomit on fire and tried to put it out with spoiled milk. That's what your house is for, you no-manners-having spunk-crevice. Keep your bad habits and worse smells to yourself, the person stupid enough to chose to live with you, and the children who nod and smile but want you dead. Wallow in your own filth all you want, just keep us out of it.
Oh, but the story doesn't end there. On the way out of the store I saw an old man wearing an outfit that made me want to rip my eyeballs from their sockets and jump up and down on them like I was at a club that still plays House of Pain. He was wearing a shirt from the Cosmo Kramer collection at Wal-Mart paired with a lovely vest that never got returned with the rest of the tuxedo. He also wore a cowboy hat, but this was no ordinary cowboy hat. It was one of those children's cowboy hats that comes with the matching belt and holsters. The hat, dirty white with once-shiny gold trim, even had little tassels dangling from it. What item of clothing could possibly complete this tragic ensemble? Raise your hand if you guessed pastel-striped Hammer pants.
As I walked by, trying not to look directly at it, I actually would have preferred to see those toes again, hair loss be damned. It was then I overheard the old man tell a visibly terrified young lady at the returns desk, "I have a twenty-four-year-old fiancee. I still give it to her so good she doesn't need a ladder to climb the ceiling." Ugh. Now I have the image in my head of a viagra'd octogenarian pounding away at some random gold-digger until he shatters his brittle pelvis.
Lucky for his fiancee, no matter how old he gets he'll never look as bad naked as he does fully clothed.
Why do a growing number of doucheholes treat public spaces as their own private shithouse? These oblivious twits pick their noses, scratch their asses, grab their crotches, and rip farts that smell like someone set a bag of vomit on fire and tried to put it out with spoiled milk. That's what your house is for, you no-manners-having spunk-crevice. Keep your bad habits and worse smells to yourself, the person stupid enough to chose to live with you, and the children who nod and smile but want you dead. Wallow in your own filth all you want, just keep us out of it.
Oh, but the story doesn't end there. On the way out of the store I saw an old man wearing an outfit that made me want to rip my eyeballs from their sockets and jump up and down on them like I was at a club that still plays House of Pain. He was wearing a shirt from the Cosmo Kramer collection at Wal-Mart paired with a lovely vest that never got returned with the rest of the tuxedo. He also wore a cowboy hat, but this was no ordinary cowboy hat. It was one of those children's cowboy hats that comes with the matching belt and holsters. The hat, dirty white with once-shiny gold trim, even had little tassels dangling from it. What item of clothing could possibly complete this tragic ensemble? Raise your hand if you guessed pastel-striped Hammer pants.
As I walked by, trying not to look directly at it, I actually would have preferred to see those toes again, hair loss be damned. It was then I overheard the old man tell a visibly terrified young lady at the returns desk, "I have a twenty-four-year-old fiancee. I still give it to her so good she doesn't need a ladder to climb the ceiling." Ugh. Now I have the image in my head of a viagra'd octogenarian pounding away at some random gold-digger until he shatters his brittle pelvis.
Lucky for his fiancee, no matter how old he gets he'll never look as bad naked as he does fully clothed.
20 Comments:
I used to work with a girl that clipped her toenails in her cubicle. Every clip, clip, clip brought more pain than the clip before. Lord only knows why people do such nasty things in public.
Holy crap, I can't stop laughing. This wouldn't happen to be the Walmart in Sunset and Marks, would it??
I meant "on.." ;-)
No, but I used to live and work very close to that Wal-Mart. This was at the Home Depot on Pecos and Patrick. I went in the Sunset Wal-Mart once at 2 in the morning and saw things I may never recover from.
I hear ya. I live in Henderson too, btw.. graduated from Green Valley High School and everything.
I worked at the Organized Living store right by Green Valley High. They went out of business as of Wednesday. Maybe they'll put something decent there.
I hate when people do anythig with or to their feet i public. I am gagging now...
This is why I never go near WalMart.
People are nasty.
I read posts like this and think, that's it! I'm gonna be single forever. I can't deal with people's nasty body odors or funky crusty feet.
blaghghghgh!
Damn, I am still laughing at the mental image of that man's outfit.
For some reason, Steve Martin in Parenthood comes to mind - where he's dressed as Cowboy Bob.
Cowboy Bob
Brilliant - the toenails are sick. It reminds me a little bit of this girl in work who used to leave her constipation tablets hanging out of her handbag - keep it in the pants
Wanna see a good "rip your eyeballs out of its eye socket" moment?--see Kill Bill Vol II! Loved that movie (Vol I especially).
Bad smells and gross public manners are a fact of life for me because like most Chicago city dwellers, the prohibitive costs of having/parking a car makes taking public transportation a neccesity. Sometimes I wanta vomit 'cause I'm stuck on the train next to a quasi-homeless-type who obviously hasn't bathed since the Clintons were in office, and then you have the cutesy Lincoln Park (yuppie kingdom) girls who Have bathed...but in a vat of perfume!
The toenail clipper should be put in a special prison reserved for people who perform public displays of nosepicking and package shuffling.
As for the old man - he's a bazillionaire with a 24 year old fiance and still slamming between the sheets. You think he gives a shit what anybody thinks of his fashion sense? He's laughing all the way to the grave.
Good to see you again god.
So is it a bad idea for me to clip my fingernails at work while I read your blog?
Egan, Only if you want your coworkers to like you.
Todd: Sage though you are, you entirely miss the point in this entry.
To vaguely paraphrase the Max Von Sydow character in Woody Allen's Hannah and Her Sisters, the question isn't "why do these things happen?" but rather "why don't these things happens more often?"
As you are already aware, the human race is essentially a petri dish of filth, shit, and piss that has somehow managed to take root, procreate, and develop thought processes.
Regardless, your use of the word "douchebag" is utterly inspired; it remains one of my favorites.
Some fake-cripple with a raging case of "fibromyalgia" had my coffee girl not only pour her a morning cup, but come around the counter and place the cup between her NAKED CRUSTY HORNY TOE-NAILED FEET down there on the wheelchair's footrests.
HOw's that for inappropriate? I asked the girl to wash her hands before pouring my coffee.
But guess what? I was the bitch for suggesting such a thing. Perhaps I should have had her serve me a muffin IN MY PUSSY.
God, I can't even SAY the word 'toenails' out loud in front of people without feeling dirty and sick.
Sounds like I need to make a silencer for my nailclippers. If you don't hear the clippy sound, would it matter as much? Just asking is all.
YNH - too many coincidences. I live right next to that Organized Living. And I'm a Libra. Cue twilight zone music.
I just moved to Vegas a little over a month ago. This city seems to have its own standard for behavior. Anything goes and I don't mean just the tourists.
People seem to have, well, a lack of personal boundaries.
Post a Comment
<< Home