This past weekend I was in my favorite store in the world, Target, and was walking past the card section on my way out. Unfortunately, I hadn’t found anything wondrous to significantly enhance my quality of life this visit, so I was a little bummed. As I breezed down the aisle, I noticed this lady standing next to the rack of cards, her small child perched in the front seat of her cart. She and her small reproductive dropping were dressed like any other slightly wealthy suburban ass-clones, so I didn’t give them a second thought.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, she lets out this exclamation, screaming it at the top of her lungs, “Cinderella’s ASSHOLE!!?!”
I stopped dead. My ears rose about five inches into the air, spontaneously grew pointed Spock tips, and turned bright red.
Whohuhwhat?! Come AGAIN?
my jaw fully dropped, I turned and looked at her again. She now had my
(and a couple of other people’s) undivided attention, as anyone who
would stand in the middle of a crowded department store and yell about
Cinderella’s chocolate starfish certainly deserved it.
my brain made it worse. I mean, yes, it was bad enough that she was
yelling this blasphemous statement in a public place, but it was worse
because she had somehow managed to make it into the form of a question. WHY? Why would this be a QUESTION?
just didn’t understand it, and now all my brain could do was to try and
think of the reverse-Jeopardy answer that would fit it. Uh, “Image that
topped ‘Human Centipede’ as the most soul-destroying thing you have ever seen?” Or, “Mentioned (and shown) in the porn version, ‘Sin and Her Fella?’” Oh, I know! How about, “#1 instant boner-killer!” for a thousand, Alex?
Ms. Screamer seemed oblivious to the ruckus she had caused, pointing at a
card her son held in his tiny hands and laughing at the image on the
front. It was then that my brain caught up with my ears and realized
a) The woman in question had a thick, unidentifiable accent.
b) She had said, “Cinderella’s CASTLE” not “ASSHOLE” and was looking at said image on the card her son held.
(and oddly relieved) I resumed my trek towards the exit. Later that
day, I realized I had literally gone decades on this planet without ever
contemplating the existence of Cinderella’s (extremely clean, I’m sure)
And I was uncontrovertibly happy about that.
now, thanks to this innocence-destroying lady, the workings of
Cinderella’s puckered poop chute would haunt my dirtied and defiled mind
for the rest of the day.
Damn her to Disney hell.
2014 All Rights Reserved. The author of this blog reserves all rights to the content of this post. No part of
this post may be reproduced in any format without written permission
from the author.