Bumper Cars Anyone?

Jesus Fucking Christ.

I know it seems like every bad story I have to share starts at a convenience store, but honestly, if you're not out drinking tequila, where else are you going to run into such a rampant variety of total fucking tools? I heard someone scream "Wal-mart!" and I applaud your ability to point out the elephant in the room.

Anyway... Today was my day off. Like most of you, this means that rather than being able to wake and flop down on the couch for some mindless daytime television, I have shit to do. A lot of shit to do. And, I intend to get it all done as fast as possible, because there is beer to be drunk and well, daytime television to be watched. (USA was showing a House marathon today. It's a bit formula-matic, but a guilty pleasure I've recently come to indulge in) Yet, while I was wanting to get done with my errands, I wasn't in a hurry, you know? It was a nice day for a change, and even Superman needs to leave the Fortress of Solitude once in awhile.

So, as I'm tooling along, thinking about how bad I want to get my newly purchased case of Monty Python's Holy Grail on ice, I decide.. a cup of coffee would really make my day. Yes, make my day. Clint Eastwood style. You've all read enough to know how much a good, old fashioned cup of Joe means to me. And friends, nothing but nothing is better than a big steaming cup of gas station coffee. You brewed that shit at 5 am and it's closing in on noon and I don't have to pay extra? Hello-julia!

At any rate, I pull into a CO-GOs that I know. It isn't one that I frequent, because I'm out-of-town, but I've hit it a time or two. It's owned by a pair of Indian brothers that fight in their native tongue (loudly) on a regular basis and has that smell. You know... bad B.O., stale smoke, old coffee, and... Dear God, is that camel urine?

A good deal of things are going to happen to me in this gas station. All at once. It's business as usual.

First of all, I'm not sure who zones these places, but they should be taken out and stoned to death. Naked. No wonder convenience stores are majority run by Middle-Easteners. The parking spaces are set up like the borders in most third world nations. Is that the line? No wait.. I think... Meh, fuck it, I'm just gonna pull in here.

So, after I pretty much abandon my car, I enter the building and run smack into a rent-a-cop that is in the process of emptying the ATM machine. Dude has the biggest Glock I have ever seen strapped to his hip. Okay, its a dangerous job and he needs to go armed. Except... Dude also has not one, not two, but three spare clips full of rounds next to his piece. Been watching Hard Rain one too many times, bro?

I wander over to the coffee area and proceed to fix myelf. Like, fix. I'm a coffee junkie, no lie.

In the meanwhile, there is me and a girl that thinks she is the next Snookie in the store. Snookie is clearly wandering about shoplifting to her heart's content, but it's my mohawk that has caught Mr. Pinkerton's attention. He's shooting me dirty looks and palming his gun as he unloads his machine. I smile and shoot him the finger. Nothing to see here folks, move along.

I walk to the register and draw the short straw. The brother that doesn't speak english is working. It takes a few minutes, but we discover that 'Marlboro' is universal and I'm finally on my way. Not.

I mentioned the parking, right? I start to back out, trying to squeeze my tiny car between the building and the pumps, when another car materializes from nowhere. I pause and the girl behind the wheel waves me on. So, I start to back out again and what does this crazy bitch do? Yep. She lays on the horn.

Guess I was too slow. Whatever. I pull back in and let her pass. Eventually, I clamber out of my spot and wind up behind this same vapid bitch on the road. For someone that waved me out, then decided I was taking too long...she drives like old people fuck.

But, the good news? I've got plenty of reading material to help me pass the time.

Did I open this post with a: Jesus Fucking Christ? Oh good. Because, Jesus Fucking Christ.

I woke up and got dressed. What more do you want?

This was, among many, of the sentiments plastered to the backside of this bitch's car.

Less is more, America.

I love a good bumper sticker. The key words in that statement being: A and Good. If you need the Library of Congress present at your next vehicle inspection, you're doing it wrong.

When the election is over, its time to remove your bumper sticker. No one is really going to dial 1-800-Eat-Shit, and it wasn't even that funny to begin with. No one except your local pedophile cares if you are the parent of an honor student. And, if Jesus is your co-pilot, you should probably just hand over the wheel, because you drive like shit.

Yes! You posted a pro-life/pro-choice sticker on your car! My entire opinion on the matter has been swayed. Cough sarcasm cough.

And OBX? NGF. That's Outerbanks, Nobody Gives a Fuck. I've been a lot of places. I've seen the Golden Gate Bridge, the St Louis Arch, a giant statue of Lincoln taking a poo... I don't feel the need to brag. Get over it.

Nobody cares if you heart your particular breed of dog. Nobody.

Bumper stickers are for displaying your following to bands or an organization you are a member of. Even the wittiest of them aren't worth reading more than once. Your political affiliations are as important to me as your religious stance. Do fuck off.

The only expectation I have for the ass end of your car is that it is out of my way.