The Stench Of Commerce

It was two days after Christmas and try as I might, I could no longer stay holed up in my home. I had avoided public confrontation long enough, my supply of holiday booze had run dry, and certain gifts were just staring at me in the corner of my living room begging to be returned back to the hellish stores from which they were first obtained. What dreaded and ghastly Gehenna could contain the most meaningless and unnecessary trinkets known to mankind?

The one place I alone fear to tread...

...the local Mall.

Normally, at any other time in my life I would just resolve myself to the art of "re-gifting" and passing on these holiday turds to a friend I could care less about, but not this year. No, this year, stuck in the deep end of the quicksand-filled pool that is New Jersey, my friend list is woefully low...thanks in part of my own anti-social and derogative nature. Seems most folks around here tend to shy away from tattooed alcoholics with a penchant for the perverted morally corrupt and the satanic. Who'd a thunk it? So this post-Christmas season, I was forced to return gifts, so I strapped on boots, downed the last shot of liquid courage I had saved up in the cabinet, and cursed the world as I drove to the mall.

On the way, I heard on the radio that the death toll count for those crazy earthquake induced tidal waves was now officially at 21,000 dead little yellow and brown people. I thought to myself, "Oh, to be among those bloated and fly-ridden bodies, nestled deep into eternal sleep amongst my third world brothers and sisters...maybe then I wouldn't have to deal with all the fucking muffin-heads at the fucking mall right now!" I sucked down cigarette after cigarette like a prisoner on death row, finally pulling into the mall parking lot. From there, my blood pressure rose to frightening proportions as I jockeyed for a parking space amongst the countless overweight soccer moms in their enormous SUVs, run down rusted Cadillacs packed like sardine cans filled with black and/or Mexican families, and 1000 year-old Methuselahs driving at a snail's pace because the mall is all they have left in their sad and pathetic lives; all of us vying for that prized goal: the closest parking spot nearest to the Food Court. Finally, after 2 hours of driving in circles and after running down some chucklehead on a Vespa, I got my parking space.

The stench of commerce flooded my nose, along with the sickening smell of countless bodies in motion. My eyes watered at the sight of the unwashed masses, all moving in unison like a sea of cheap fabric and even cheaper haircuts. "Fuck this shit," I told myself out loud, and gritting my teeth, I pushed my way to my first destination...Aeropostale. An aunt of mine had sent me as a gift an oversized Holiday themed sweater, something so goddamned ludicrous looking and itchier than a rusty brillo pad shoved up your piss-hole, I wouldn't even have resorted to wiping my own ass with the damned thing. Walking into Aeropostale was like walking into a real-life Old Navy commercial, but without all the hot bitches draped in cheap fleece. I hissed and squealed under the bright fluorescent lights, my bloodshot and dank bar-trained eyes not accustomed to such harshness. Like some fiendish character out of a Kafka story, I approached the counter suspiciously and slammed that horrible sweater down, demanding a monetary refund. The faggot behind the counter tried to convince me that without a receipt, my best option was exchanging it for a item of clothing. I looked around and all I saw was khaki. Khaki, khaki, khaki...surrounding me like prison of prep. I turned back to him and hissed through my teeth, "Do I LOOK like I would wear ANY of this SHIT? Now listen to me, and listen good...take this sweater off of hands, and give me CASH in exchange. Do it." Perhaps it was the power of the Jedi Mind Trick, or perhaps Little Johnny saw homicide in my eyes...but sure enough, with a flick of his limp wrist, I got my cash.

Next came a visit to EB Games, to return Halo2. Don't get me wrong, Halo2 is probably a good game, but I wouldn't know...I own a fucking Playstation. Apparently, no matter how many times I told my cousin that I don't own an X-Box and probably never will own one, stupidity runs very deep on her side of the family. The exchange went actually quite well, save for the fact that I got stuck behind Jabba the Slut and her equally grotesque son, forced to wait on line behind them as a stench rose from her gargantuan ass as if she had forgotten to wipe...FOR TEN YEARS STRAIGHT! It never ceases to amaze me that people will let themselves get to that level without the option of sucide, and even more amazing is the fact that they are allowed to breed, and perhaps even DOUBLY amazing is that fact that someone else out there is desperate or depraved enough to fuck a fat piece of tripe like her.

As the day drew on, and my adventures in anti-social paranoia continued, the crowds in the mall grew to a crushing throng. My senses became shattered, and the cold sweat of a lack of no alcohol or depressants swimming along in my bloodstream creeped down my spine. Everywhere I turned, wave upon wave of shoppers flooded my vision. I wanted to scream aloud like some mad beast, rolling down the walkways in a shopping cart, armed with a shotgun and taking out those who stood in my way. I wanted to dance a merry jig upon the flames and ashes of corporate consumerism, while the bones of the sheeple crackle in the fire and split open, warming my feet and the cockles of my black heart. But no, I just really needed to get out of there...so I pushed and shoved my way out the exit doors, the cool December air refreshing my senses. Fuck the rest of the presents, I now had enough money to buy a bottle of gin, a pack of cigarettes, and maybe...just maybe, score myself a brand new skin flick from the bottom of the discount barrel at my favorite porno shop.

And that, my friends, is the TRUE meaning of Christmas: Wallowing in an alcohol-fueled depression, falling asleep while jerking off to amputee porn, while that lit cigarette slowly burns down your house.