This post is a little late in making the internets, but I spent a fair amount of time piecing it all together.
But first, just a few quick asides.
I have a lot of respect for the writers of Tailspin. How many practical uses for cloudsurfing can one team of writers come up with? That takes real skill to keep Kit Cloudkicker relevant in that day and age.
And this question has been making the rounds in the NEPA speakeasies. What’s the tougher sell: In the butt or on the face? Take that femenisim, eat 1950.
Now, for my tale of Wal-Mart and woe.
I woke up Sunday afternoon on an air mattress in my sun room. The sun room is really the link between the fire escape/back stairs and my kitchen. It’s airy and pretty open to the public. There’s no lock on the door that leads to the outside. Lots of windows.
My ironing board, which is usually set up in my living room, was upside-down in my regular bed. My TV was on, but tuned to some random input setting that you only use if you have an uplink to Soviet spy satellites. Ahh, Natasha. My desk chair was on my couch. And I was joined in bed by Haynes Johnson’s latest book “Age of Anxiety.” It’s a good read. Haynes is a ridiculous dude — Pulitzer winner at The Washington Post and journo prof at UMD. He used to look like the dude from Office Space. Now he’s old and has one insane eyebrow and one slightly less insane eyebrow.
Aaaaaaanyways, I was parched. As you have probably guessed by this point, I spent a fair amount of time drinking Saturday night, and cheering for Michael Phelps in a bar. And watching a chick get her ass hit with a stripper belt (no buckle for easy release) in a bar. It’s a weird bar. Swimming is cool though.
So I rolled off the air mattress and made my way to the kitchen to find means of hydration. There’s usually not anything in my fridge except for two half-filled egg cartons that have been floating around there for at least eight months, some apples and individually wrapped American cheese slices, but I checked anyways. Lo and behold, I scrounge up an orange Gatorade. 32 ouncer. Good find. A most pleasant surprise. Sports beverage transaction benefits me today.
‘Rade in hand, I stagger through the hallway to my living room, still not entirely sure how I ended up on an air mattress in my sun room, and I discover shopping bags full of 32 oz. Gatorades in assorted flavors. There were about 30 full ones and five or six half-full ones.
After searching the bags I found the receipt from a self-checkout line in Wal-Mart. I paid 98 cents for each Gatorade. And then I apparently bought a bunch of other shit. Toilet paper (found in my trunk). Paper towels (still missing). Headphones (somehow found their way into my work bag). A few frozen pizzas (in the fridge, of course). Two pounds of potatoes (missing until later in the story). Another ironing board (still missing, presumed captured).
Best I can figure, I went to the 24-hour Wal-Mart after boozing, which I’ve been known to do, in order to pick up some toilet paper, which my apartment had been sorely lacking. Along the way, I picked up some other essentials and was easily suckered in by the swell Gatorade pricing at my favorite bargain retailer. And then I bought other shit.
Determined to find the toilet paper (two-ply, for her pleasure), I wandered out to my car and searched for about 15 minutes before I remembered I had a trunk. That’s where I found the 36 rolls of toilet paper that I was sure were hiding somewhere else in the passenger cabin. TP in hand, I hit up the bathroom, where the final aftershocks of my night were in full view. The toilet seat was ripped from its hinges and sitting in the sink. Those potatoes I mentioned earlier were on the back of the toilet, just in case I should need a raw potato while on the commode.
So, what does this have to do with music? Nothing. But while I was trying to clean up from this madness I heard two songs that I knew I had to share.
The Two Gallants are on Saddle Creek. Two dudes. Not sure if it’s Gallants as in Goofus and Gallant, or Gallant like the car. This little ditty is called Nothing to You
I first heard the song while driving around during one of my work avoidance periods last week. It was pretty sweet.
And I followed you into the party/That no one invited me to
Alone I made I made to my 40/And played make believe it was you
It’s less depressing when they sing it.
And then The Redwalls. They have this sometimes odd combination of the Beatles and The Strokes or The Killers. Lots of The’s. Kono wa They Are Among Us
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Tags:
Aeronautics,
Air mattress,
Airborne interspecies cooperation,
Baloo,
Bears,
Bears who fly planes,
Butt,
Butt or Face,
Cloudsurfing,
Consumer Affairs,
Dave should let me add categories,
Disney crossover characters,
Face,
Gatorade,
Interspecies cooperation,
japanese shit,
Kit Cloudkicker,
Lots of Gatorade,
Planes,
Saturday,
Shopping,
Slagathor,
Sports drinks,
Sun room,
Sun rooms,
Sunday,
Tailspin,
various flavors,
Wal-Mart
10 25th, 2008| 
