OB2: Oh no, why would they do that?

OB1: I know!  We have enough supermarkets, we don’t have enough churches. Especially in this day and age.

Yup, that monitor has Galaga on it. Amazing detail, Lego, truly. Pretty sure this set is going to wind up in my collection because I want a giant Hulk and Loki for him “puny god” smash, and that Galaga screen makes it all the more special.

This makes me wonder if any other toy company can get away with cool little Easter eggs like that. I guess it would have to be some sort of a playset, right?

Anyone out there ever notice one? I’m off to scour the Lego store to find more now.

OB2: mmmmm, yeah.

OB2: And I know that my first cat is still with me two. I’ll be in bed, and I’ll feel him kneading the blanket, but there’s no cat on the bed. He’s always with me.

OB1: yeah, he has to be. His spirit is in limbo and he’s just telling you he’s okay. He’ll stick around until you move on.

Old Broad 1: She was going to take my son camping this past weekend, but, I’m sorry. It’s Mother’s Day. I know she’s wrapped up in her cancer thing, but come on. You’ve only got one mother-in-law, and she’d like to see her son.

Old Broad 2: Ohhhhhhhh, how can she be so bad?

OB1: Yeah, she changed her tune real fast when I spoke up about it. How ignorant.

OB2: mmmmmm. You told her.

Well, it was, until the kibosh was put on it with this sign pasted on every door in the building:

This sign is the epitome of what I hate about office politicking. You dirty dregs of society that technically work in the same building aren’t good enough to walk through the office. Your appearance is distracting and we just can’t risk the impact to our productivity when you’re walking through for 35 seconds. Or something to that effect. I didn’t write the sign, so I have no idea what the real motives behind it were, but it strikes me as disrespectful. I guess walking into the office to speak to HR is okay, although you probably should leave through the same door so it doesn’t appear as if you’re cutting through. Maybe it’s easier to call into the office and have people come out to you, so you don’t even come into the office at all.

Besides, how obnoxious is this sign? It’s in all caps with multiple exclamation points and bold/underlined words for emphasis. It reads more like an angry child ranting about a pet peeve, rather than an official posting of a recently enacted company policy.

No, that’s my sandbox, and you can’t put your Tonka truck into it! Seems totally legitimate.

Normal sized Mighty Muggs are awesome, but with the Avengers movie they put out these mini ones that make me squeal in delight every time I gaze upon them. They’re so adorable! Anyhow, when I saw this two-pack of Silver Centurion and Iron Monger, I knew I had to own it.

The Centurion costume was my favorite version of Iron Man –and still would be if they didn’t make the Extremis armor– so I just had to buy it the instant my eyes realized what I was staring at in the store.

We usually make Walmart runs in the wee hours of the morning, since it’s the one place still open that we can walk around. Being that I bought it at 3:00 in the morning, I didn’t even look in my bag until I woke up later on that day. I unfortunately noticed that my Iron Bros were scanned twice, and I knew I had to get my money back. It’s extremely uncomfortable dealing with this situation because everyone that works in retail is cynical and expects the worst from every customer that walks through the door. I’m guilty of it too, since I used to expect bullshit from people when I was working returns earlier in my life, but I have a new perspective on it now.

I went out to lunch with my buddy Jerry (which is chronicled ind his awesome derryX Dines post about the food), did some work on his site, and decided to go get my money back. It was now eleven hours after the purchase when I brought the receipt to the return counter and waited my turn.

I could see the disdain in the associate’s eyes when I stepped up with a receipt and no item, before I even began to explain the situation. It’s cool, though, keep giving me that dirty fucking look because you think I’m out to scam you. Fuck you. It’s even cooler that you want to try and shame and intimidate me by requesting my identification before processing my request. Go ahead, get really snide with me when I inform you of your own policy which states I need not provide identification for returns or exchanges with a receipt, especially when I’m seeking recompense for your fellow employee’s error.

At this point, she said she couldn’t do anything for me without my ID, and went to dismiss me by calling the next person in line. Being a veteran retail worker, I told her to just call the assistant manager on duty, since neither she, nor a CSM would be able to help me at this point. I was rather annoyed.

When you tell a low-level employee that they’re not going to be any further help to you, and you tell them to bypass their immediate supervisor, they go into super defensive mode. It’s really fun being accused of trying to steal $13 by someone that doesn’t even make that in an hour, and I’m well aware of the fact that people abuse the “no hassle” returns system of major retail chains. In the grand scheme of things, this $13 over-charge wouldn’t break my checking account, but it’s the damned principle of the thing. I don’t steal from you, don’t steal from me.

She gets on the walkie-talkie and calls her CSM over to the desk. Goody, another time running through the story for someone that’s not going to make the judgment call of returning my money. I was looking forward to it. The CSM walks up, they go around the corner to talk shit about me, and come back out. The CSM tells me that she’s sorry, but she can’t do anything without my ID, and that I should have noticed it before I left the store.

You’re right, I should have, but I didn’t. I don’t care, and your employee fucked up. Give me my money back. I’m bordering on the edge of being pissed off at this point, so I call her useless and tell her to get the assistant manager, like I told the returns bitch to do five minutes ago. Now that you’ve both been extremely uncooperative, I want to make your day at work pretty shitty. I’m going to be as bitchy as I can be in front of your manager, so he’ll take it out on you later because he got bitched at over thirteen fucking dollars.

They push me to the side and start waiting on the next person in line. After waiting for ten minutes, and four pages for the manager, accompanied by dirty looks from the returns bitch, useless CSM, and the customers in line, the manager decided to lumber up to the desk. I explained to him that I was there less than 12 hours ago, and realized I was double charged. I further detailed that the returns bitch and the useless CSM tried to strong-arm me out of my money, and that he took exactly eleven minutes to waddle his fat ass up to the returns counter, and that it was only a $13 charge I wanted back. He shot a look at the useless CSM and returns bitch that made me feel good inside.

You know, better than I was for the previous twenty minutes of my life when I was being treated like a total scumbag without any dignity. Then again, I do shop at Walmart. I guess my dignity was pretty much out the window before this experience. The point is, don’t think everyone is out to get you, especially when you work at the returns desk at Walmart. Do your job, get paid, move on.

Fan fiction is the lowest form of “creative” writing known to humanity, where these no-talent hacks try to write stories involving their favorite characters. The problem, though, is their interpretations never align with what the actual character would be doing or saying.

Take this one that I found today, while looking up some information on my upcoming week of superhero movie posts. It’s called The Hippie’s Date, and focuses on the “Nolan” Joker going to a club, picking up a hippie girl and necro-fucking her. No, really, that’s what happens. I couldn’t make it up if I had to.

Anything sarcastic I write won’t even come close to reading it on your own, but I certainly do not recommend reading it. It’s a waste of five minutes, and you’ll just question why you’d ever read my blog in the first place. If you’re curious but don’t want to invest the time, here’s some of the choice cuts that I think are pretty representative.

“Groove is in the heart,” he sang, sitting on the roof of the tall building, overlooking Gotham. “Groove is in the hea-a-art. DJ Soul is on a roll, I’ve been told he can’t be sold, he’s not vicious or malicious, just de-lovely and delicious….. Hm. Doesn’t sound like my type at all. But, groove is in the heart.”

Oh baby, this really screams Joker to me. I’m totally into it. After some really drawn out, non-descriptive scenery paragraphs, Joker meets up with a hippie in a dance club. Here’s the quality dialog that happens after this broad asks about the “etchings” on his face:

Ah, the Joker thought. That would explain it. She thinks I’m some kind of Goth guy or Emo kid. Silly girl. And the Joker chuckled to himself. The Joker’s own thoughts often amused him, especially if they manifested into reality, like many of his more devilish plans. “Oh, have no fear, Buttermuffin. Before this night is over with, you’ll hear alllll about it.”

He snaked his left arm around the Hippie chick’s slender waist. “Tell me your name, Chiclet,” he said, his voice never losing that edge of dangerous humour that always threatened to spill over into something deadly.

“It’s Edna, of all things, but I like to be called Springtime, or just Spring. How ’bout you?”

“Well…. I could always be the Autumn to your Spring, the fall to your rising. You know how everything just has to end.”

“But they always begin again, never forget that.”

“Maddening isn’t it?”

Spring laughed. “You like to joke around, don’t you? But you never told me your name.”

“You could always call meeeeee….Joker.”

“Okay, Joker it is!”

“So, how about those etchings, Springtime in the Winter?”

Oh baby. How steamy is this? I’m really hooked, how about you? After getting her back to his apartment, he does the whole “wanna know how I got these scars” routine from the movie. Except this writer drags it out to about 500 words of incoherency. It never ends. Unfortunately, I don’t wind up dead like the hippie named Spring, although it’s probably for the best that I don’t.

Her voice catching from fright, Springtime said, “I’m s-so.. so sor-rh-hee.”

“Why yes, yes you are.” And, with that, the Joker sliced into Spring’s face, first her left side, then her right, making her a smile identical to his own. He did it so quickly, she didn’t even get the chance to scream before he buried his blade through her throat, pinning her to his bed like a collected butterfly.

Springtime’s eyes were like two mirrors that drew the Joker in. Even in death they seemed to carry a kind of life of their own…

He cocked his head and stared at her, wondering what it would be like to enter her now. Blood spread out behind her head, hypnotic in its slow insistence. In spite of all his numerous aberrations, the Joker had never been one for necrophilia. It wasn’t that he thought it was wrong. In the Joker’s world, there were no wrongs or rights. Things just were. The Joker just did. Life just was, and so was death. He’d just never had the opportunity to fuck a dead woman, or a dead man for that matter, before Spring’s premature departure from the land of the living. He may never have the chance again, so why…..not?

I’m not going to quote the necrophiliac intercourse that transpires, because it’s as horrible as you’d expect, if not worse. Here’s the paragraph after he’s all done.

The Joker withdrew his quickly softening member and wiped himself dry on Springtime’s dirndl. He doubted anyone would want it anyway after she was found. Well, you never know. Some thrift store may end up selling it to some other Hippie in the name of charity. Hell, maybe some Hippie named Charity would wear it with pride, ignorant of the pools of blood and semen in which the simple dress had been drenched.

Oh, cool, so after you have the Joker fuck a dead girl, you’ve got to take a cheap shot at hippies. The piece ends with awful lyrics to a song that the Joker sings as he dresses and leaves. Everything about this is just so absurd. I hate that I read this thing, and I hate that I’m blogging about it, but such is life. It’s one of those things that I couldn’t be the only one to experience, and I had to put it out there. Do with it what you will.

Maybe I’m sympathetic to this, because my first (and only) ball was tossed to my father as he was carrying me out of the park. I was crying after not getting one during the game, and a player –I believe it was Hensley Meulens– tossed us a ball.

25 years later, I’m still a devoted fan and I relish the thought of making some kid as happy as I was that night.

The reason for this story? A foul ball in Texas last night was tossed into the stands. An older couple snagged it and were completely oblivious to the fact that there was a crying toddler next to them.

Look how they taunt him! Heartless!

All’s well that ends well, though. Someone in the Rangers dugout saw what was going on and sent a ball over during the changeover at the end of the half. Just look how happy they made that little guy, and look at the glare the broad shoots him, like she’s annoyed he got a ball. Assholes.

Luckily, we had some of those easy-bake Toll House cookies in the fridge, so I made some and gobbled them up like a dirty fucking junkie. Longest twenty minutes of my life ever. The trials and tribulations of a fat guy.

When I started planning out my Meltdown week, there were about twenty clips I wanted to narrow down to my top five. Early on, I decided not to go with sports players/managers, or non-celebrities to help ease my process. Here’s some of my favorites that didn’t make the cut.

We’ll start with baseball legend, Tommy Lasorda.

Alec Baldwin has a huge meltdown over his daughter snubbing him.

Lily Tomlin on the set of I Heart the Huckabees. I had a tough choice between this one and the David O’Russell clip from the same set, but I think the David clip is a little more fleshed out.

This meltdown isn’t that great, but the facial expressions of the field reporter, after he slams his pad down, and that of the anchorman are absolutely priceless.

In times of crises, we tend to revert to our earlier times in life. In the case of this field reporter, he was a far less polished gentleman.

Ringo’s just too popular, and can’t handle his fan-mail any longer. He’s telling you shove it, with much peace and love.

I hesitate to put this up as a meltdown, because it’s just a man that’s emotionally distraught, and can’t find the words to explain his position with eloquence. The reactions from Mike Myers as Kanye goes off on a tangent are fucking spectacular, and his level of awkwardness slays me every time I watch this. For the record, I care about black people.

If I’ve missed any of your favorites this week, stop by the forum and share them with me. I can’t wait to see what I’ve forgotten!