More Wally

Any trip to Wal-Mart is going to be fruitful, especially in gaining blogging material.

Things I saw in free form:

A large number of people pushing carts with only one or two very small, lightweight items inside them.

A caravan of Mexican women allowing their children to scream and pull shoes off the shelves.

A caravan of Pentecostal women sans kids that seemed to magically appear down any aisle I wanted to walk down.

A woman who was ready to straight riot when she could not get a dressing room immediately.

A younger girl who went inside one of the dressing rooms and did God knows what—it sounded like she was dropping bowling balls on the floor.

An old, old man who was starrrrrrrring at an old, old woman’s ass with no sense of embarrassment or modesty whatsoever.

A loud hick woman missing most of her teeth who picked up a baby jumper and screamed, “Awww, looky looky. Ain’t this just the cutest lil’ thang?” It was like something from a comedy sketch. Or Dogpatch USA.

A middle-aged man with spindly bird legs and arms and a distended beer gut starrrrring lasciviously at the bikinis and swimwear in the women’s department. (This phenomenon seems to be a common one. Maybe the bad economy has rendered these pervs unable to afford actual porn.)

A woman wearing tight white pants and no underwear. Trust me, you could easily see no underwear was occurring. Lest you assume this was a sexy statement, she looked like she had been on meth for a long time and it was mostly just saggy little buttcheeks the size of baseballs and a lot of tailbone poking out. I think maybe she needs to hang out with the woman in the last paragraph of this blog and eat some donuts.

Multiple obese babies and toddlers. Looked like Maury’s fat kids.

A person I thought was a man who looked like Sebastian Bach until I realized upon closer look that it was a woman. Or a transsexual.

The true piece de resistance: I get to the express check-out and a large woman with a dopey baby is in front of me. The 20 items limit never even remotely mattered to her. She loaded so much shit out of the basket and no one said anything to her. To paint a tableau vivant for you, she was probably 5’9” or 5’10” and 350 to 400 pounds. She was like a manly Sasquatch type of woman. No make-up, hair slicked down, giving off a general vibe of “I’ve already mated so now I can give up on men.” The contents of said loaded down cart boggled my mind. You may think this is an exaggeration but it’s truly a frightening statement on American health.

Diapers for the dopey baby, Hi-C, tons of Mountain Dew, donuts, every Little Debbie cake that’s made, candy bars, gum, some sort of caramel apple thingys, microwave popcorn, plastic baby bottles, a few cans of baby chow (LOL) and bananas.

So the healthiest items in the damn basket are the jars of baby chow and bananas, which would not be a fruit I would recommend to someone who’s probably already having blood sugar problems. The thought that occurred to me in watching this—other than being pissed that she had 50 items rather than 20—was: you know this motherfucker goes to the doctor and says, “I have no idea why I’m overweight. My diet is not bad.” You KNOW she does. She probably says that she eats nothing but salads and exercises a lot yet cannot lose weight due to genetics or having the baby, etc. Meanwhile it looks like she is stocking up to commit carbicide like Bruno.