And now here's Jack with the Weather...
Feb. 25th, 2015 05:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonFolks be posting about the weather like the rest of us can't just look out the window. Yes, I know, it's as cold and wet out there as a vampire's pussy before dawn. Yes, I know, tiny balls of ice fall from lands beyond those impenetrable clouds where caveman sky-gods shed the blood of weeping frost giants, Yes, I know, what little the average asshole knows about driving evaporates at the touch of the first snowflake upon their car and from there it's Fury Road all the way home.
Hell, folks around here too broke to text or tweet have been reduced to standing on the street corners and screaming with trembling finger thrust heavenwards. "Sleeeeeet! No, wait... Raaaaaaiiiiin.... slleeeeet... again...okay now it's clear, no wait... Raaaaaiiiiiiin!"
Fuck of a thing to have to watch from a traffic jam caused by two soccer moms bare knuckle brawling at the intersection of Claremont and North Decatur.
Later at the local Kroger it's a scene out of Stephen King's 'Mist'. Parking lot filled with scattered and overturned carts. Motherfuckers Tokyo drifting through the parking spaces in loud, booming cars. Shopping cart scooters sit abandoned at a nearby drive through. Fires burn in trash receptacles, men drink openly in the street and women of scarlet intentions wolf watch in feral packs from the dollar store.
I finally find myself a spot to park and as I walk in a young man on leave from the army and in his digital camo patterned uniform is weeping. "You don't want to go in there, son... it's... it's... "
And he trailed off walking away all zombified on me oblivious into the panic traffic.
A gunshot from inside the Kroger resounds and for a moment I consider turning my ass right around, getting back in my car and heading straight home.
Except home has zero Little Debbie's and that's absolutely the worst number of Little Debbie's a man can have when he has to hunker down through a sleet... no rain... wait, yes sleet storm.
So in I go.
Ten minutes later and I'm kneeling before a child king who sits royally inside a shopping cart stuffed with frozen dinners and has tied along its cage all the balloons from the floral section. The child king eats from a bag of cheese puffs with orange powdered lips and demands of the guards what purpose I have been bought before him.
The guards, three ladies of Sumo wrestler physique, inform his majesty that I am a trespasser in this kingdom and one who was caught pilfering the last box of zebra cakes.
From there I am made to engage in a round of trial by combat. Packages of defrosting meat are duct taped to chest, back and shoulders. I am given a push-broom as a weapon while my opponent, one of the meat department butchers, grins at me with cleaver in hand. Around us shoppers and employees form a human circle around us.
Three claps of the child king's hands initiated that the combat had begun.
A minute later and I've got a hunk of sharpened steel embedded into a t-bone shoulder pad while I choke a bitch out with a push-broom.
Two minutes later and I'm walking out with a box zebra cakes when mom calls.
She wants to know if I can go pick her up cigarettes.
Still wearing my armor of duct-taped meat, I pluck the cleaver out and cast my eyes towards the gas station that sells her brand.
"Sure, mom." I sigh. "No problem."
And all around the chaos the drizzle and the sleet continue to pour.
Hell, folks around here too broke to text or tweet have been reduced to standing on the street corners and screaming with trembling finger thrust heavenwards. "Sleeeeeet! No, wait... Raaaaaaiiiiin.... slleeeeet... again...okay now it's clear, no wait... Raaaaaiiiiiiin!"
Fuck of a thing to have to watch from a traffic jam caused by two soccer moms bare knuckle brawling at the intersection of Claremont and North Decatur.
Later at the local Kroger it's a scene out of Stephen King's 'Mist'. Parking lot filled with scattered and overturned carts. Motherfuckers Tokyo drifting through the parking spaces in loud, booming cars. Shopping cart scooters sit abandoned at a nearby drive through. Fires burn in trash receptacles, men drink openly in the street and women of scarlet intentions wolf watch in feral packs from the dollar store.
I finally find myself a spot to park and as I walk in a young man on leave from the army and in his digital camo patterned uniform is weeping. "You don't want to go in there, son... it's... it's... "
And he trailed off walking away all zombified on me oblivious into the panic traffic.
A gunshot from inside the Kroger resounds and for a moment I consider turning my ass right around, getting back in my car and heading straight home.
Except home has zero Little Debbie's and that's absolutely the worst number of Little Debbie's a man can have when he has to hunker down through a sleet... no rain... wait, yes sleet storm.
So in I go.
Ten minutes later and I'm kneeling before a child king who sits royally inside a shopping cart stuffed with frozen dinners and has tied along its cage all the balloons from the floral section. The child king eats from a bag of cheese puffs with orange powdered lips and demands of the guards what purpose I have been bought before him.
The guards, three ladies of Sumo wrestler physique, inform his majesty that I am a trespasser in this kingdom and one who was caught pilfering the last box of zebra cakes.
From there I am made to engage in a round of trial by combat. Packages of defrosting meat are duct taped to chest, back and shoulders. I am given a push-broom as a weapon while my opponent, one of the meat department butchers, grins at me with cleaver in hand. Around us shoppers and employees form a human circle around us.
Three claps of the child king's hands initiated that the combat had begun.
A minute later and I've got a hunk of sharpened steel embedded into a t-bone shoulder pad while I choke a bitch out with a push-broom.
Two minutes later and I'm walking out with a box zebra cakes when mom calls.
She wants to know if I can go pick her up cigarettes.
Still wearing my armor of duct-taped meat, I pluck the cleaver out and cast my eyes towards the gas station that sells her brand.
"Sure, mom." I sigh. "No problem."
And all around the chaos the drizzle and the sleet continue to pour.