Democratic License by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Written by Stevie Nicks.
I had not yet received a reply from either Barnea or Begin. So I sent each another updating the requests with the Trump assassination addition. I mean you have to admit that this is a pretty big day; some nukes and a former President elimination.
If this didn’t make the history books it would surely be on all the trivia games. Due diligence called.
Dear diary; You are probably thinking that I have no sense of humor. Au contraire, you must not understand the sophisticated taste endemic to that which is acquired. In order to simplify, please allow me to write something I personally find funny beyond the usually stated LMAO crap. There is context too voluminous for this venue, but suffice to say that it involves those terrible, archaic days before I had my 3-D copy machine, and my regular weekly journeys to one of the Tel Aviv Walmart,
undertaken when I was married to the coupon clipper, who was ostensibly competing with Amazon Prime.
Again, this suffers from a lack of context emanating from the absence of the first ones in the series; almost as inferior as the later entries made into some shit series after the first one appealed to the teenagers. And no, it has nothing to do with the coupons and the surly checkout girl who had to ring them all up, though I must admit that I was amused while watching her scrunched face. Here goes.
It was another Walmart day. Christ. First of all some idiot had the nerve to take my favorite parking spot. Though the junker seemed empty, it was likely the stolen property of some illegal alien moulinyan, who was inside gathering his free rappyrations.
Getting ahead of myself, the ugly, uppity, out of place obstruction was still there when I was leaving. So I used one of my keys to ding the piece of shit; not that that did any damage to the worthless heap, but it made me feel mildly amused and retributive. Hehe. But, I'm jumping ahead, and leaving out the best part. As I entered Walmart, the glass doors sliding open and shut with my presence and departure on and from their rubber mats, I once again saw the same “greeter” who once again gave me that required, business-like, perfunctory, barely audible
“’Mornin’.” I half returned the favor, more or less, and the
wheelchair seated bat glared at me as if her supposedly disabled, old ass was offended. Hoping it was, I made an almost indecipherable chuckle, keeping my eyes on the road ahead.
It had been hotter than hell here in Tel Aviv, so like they do in Phoenix, Arizona, all the codgers were milling around the air conditioned dispenser of seconds. And every one of these candidates for the crypt just had to get right in my fucking way, grinning like a fool, unless that cordial facial expression was a result of a month's worth of constipation. On top of that the Walmart employees just had to be doing some booshit right where my stuff was. I got another set of constipated grins, as a few sweetly asked; “Am I in your way?” “No, bitch. I just stopped here to admire your lard butt.” But, I didn't say that as the charm school lessons had been kicking in. Besides, these fat bitches weighed twice what I do. So, I've got some pent up aggression that might unintentionally come out on Rumble, MeWe, Telegram, or any of the other anti-democratic, nazi, “social”
media sites. I understand that their client defeating modus operandi is to make a profit while confiscating all their users time into making irrelevant posts, keeping them away from actually doing something which might confound the jews. In addition, their collected data about anti-democratic malcontents is a conveniently accessed database for government “information
monitors,” such as the DOJ and FBI, who when irked, will use the context against the right wing troublemakers. Either way;
“Gotcha suckers.”
Yeah. I’ve been getting tired of this shit lately and I warned you. Hope later we can get to the one where I goof on the old bat “greeter” with the plastic breathing apparatus up her nose.
Oh, man; one time it was fucking hysterical.
She always hassled me. After basically ignoring me on my way in, she’d always stop me to check my receipt on the way out. Jeez.
She’d shove her wrinkled old geek hands into my bagged items and take her time doing that while she’d smile at the bread on top while she moved it to the bottom to get all crushed by the canned items, before dismissing me with her “Have a nice day”
shit. And worse than that, I always noticed that she never stopped the thieving moulinyans to check their receipts. While on a larger level this is democratic policy; rappyrations that is, I never could help but take it personally, that I was being discriminated against. Dammit, I’m free, White, and over eighteen.
One day as I entered she was trying to slickly flip me the bird by scratching her nose with her fungus laced middle finger; and the whole fucking schizz fell out of her nose in the process;
and one of those guide dogs used by those blind, sympathy seeking fakers who sit outside, right in your way with an upturned hat picked the damn thing up and kept moving. The German Shepherd must have weighed 140 pounds. Shit, the thing that used to be up her nose was still somewhere attached to the old bat, probably the oxygen tank; so she got pulled at a speed she hasn’t seen since before the chemo decimated her hair; and that dog had that thing with the stringy green snot dripping off right in his mouth, and I burst out laughing and I couldn’t stop. You’d have liked that one.
Some people in the store left, in the process one called out;
“This is too much. That old bag with the schizz could be my mom; and the insurance company won’t pay for a new nose schizz saying that it was her fault.” That got me laughing even harder, so much so that the green snot started pouring out of my nose. But, I didn’t care. The could be daughter had her own scam running, and she insisted that I fork over 699 sheckels for a replacement nose schizz. Crap must cost about a buck and a half to make in fucking Cambodia or some other Third World shithole country.
The woman was stone faced when the now schizz deficient bag slid into the cosmetics area, where some Walmart workers were trying to wave her off, because of the vomit on the floor, which she
went into face first, like Ricky Henderson stealing second base.
I think she has a good lawsuit.
Don’t get me wrong. I understand the game. Walmart cheaply gets to prominently display to everyone that they are a most compassionate and inclusionary employer; ugly old schizz-nose gets to be smiled at and warmly greeted by most everyone, something she never previously experienced; the moulies get free shit; the German Shepherd gets the exercise he needs but doesn’t get all day sitting next to the fake blind guy; and the cops get more time to hang out at the Krispy Kreme franchise. But it isn’t fair to me. I have been encouraged to play a game I wanted no part of. What I’d like to know is what the hell is there in it for me?