Things I Learned at the Mall

I went to the mall on Saturday. The mall's in Henderson and it's called the Galleria at Sunset. I like to call it the Gonorrhea at Sunset. These things were made clear to me:

I hate teenagers. I know I'm getting old, because teenagers bug the Lord of Heaven and Earth out of me. I can't stand their little cliques and pecking orders. There's always one Queen Bee who thinks she's so fucking special and you just know in three years she'll be knocked up by a drama teacher at the community college. There's also an alpha male, barking orders at his gutless flunkies and picking on the outcasts. In five years he'll be the deadbeat dad of two and in prison for flagrant non-support. Call me petty, but I hope his cellmate ass-rapes him.

Hooray! I'm not the biggest piece of shit imaginable. The food court at this mall contains a Hot Dog on a Stick, a franchise that hires attractive young girls, dresses them like avant garde circus clowns, and forces them to make lemonade in a way that causes their boobs to jiggle. A lot of guys, many of them my age or older, sit at the food court and stare at the bouncing breasts of the teenage girls. I purposely sit facing the opposite direction so as not to be tempted. I'm no saint - I'd look if I sat in front of them - but I won't allow myself to be that sleazy.

A lot of people bought breast implants for their daughters when what they needed was contraceptives. This one pretty much explains itself. If you want to be a grandparent early in life, buy your little girl a pair of saline scum magnets for her fifteenth birthday.

I am not shaped like most shirts. Every shirt I saw tapered to a "V" shape. My fat body doesn't! I'm more of an elongated "O".

There is no reason for this mall to have a music store. The music store in this mall sucks the knobby cock of weakness. It's great if you're a twelve-year-old girl who hates her parents so much she makes them spend $18.99 for a CD that sells for eleven dollars at Target. For the rest of us, not so good.

Every mall food court has a place that sells ethnic food of unknown ethnicity. It looks like Chinese food and Indian food mixed together in a slop bucket but the people cooking it appear to be of Middle Eastern descent. What the hell is it? Is there an animal in that pot that should be in a zoo? Are spices involved that would cause me to fail a drug test? Are those the same dazed looks they gave the health inspector? Looks like I'm eatin' another cheesesteak.

This is the only mall in America without a decent coffee establishment. This is a two-story mall and not one Starbucks or Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf to be found. I got a cup of coffee from Cinnabun of all places. It gave me the drips, making me drive home with my cheeks clenched together. I desecrated the posted speed limit and ran several red lights so I wouldn't
decorate my car in a motif called Modern Ass.

Old people love to write checks. I made one measly purchase and had to stand behind the lady who gave Christ his first blowjob as she wrote out a check with one of those pens that have to be periodically dipped in ink. Why does anyone still write a check at a retail store? Check cards are FREE. They don't cost anything but the natural high old people get when they rob me of my time.

Those mobile cart mini-stores need to be eliminated. No thank you, I do not want my glasses cleaned, ring appraised, scalp massaged, shoes shined, balls scratched, watch repaired, or funny-bone tickled. I do not want to buy a velour painting of a unicorn, a pair of slippers that look like mini-vans, hair and wig extensions, time share in a condo in Tehran, sunglasses with my name written on them in glitter, or anything at all related to NASCAR. If your product was that good you'd have an actual store.

Now I know why so many people shop online.