faggot Wal-Mart. faggot unappreciative humans. faggot girl scouts.

m and I spent a hundred hours at stupid wal-mart while my sister and her friend got their nails all done. we walked around the electronics. We sword-fought with the swim noodles. we ate lunch at one of the patio tables in the home department. we got fucking bored and decided to go to dollar tree.

we get into dollar tree and we're walking through the toy section trying to decide between bubbles, those awesome rubber balloon things, or chalk, when i have the bright idea of LET'S BUY KID'S CHALK AND DRAW ON THE SIDEWALK.

so we spend the last two dollars and seventeen cents in my pocket on two packages of sidewalk chalk and commence outside into the hundred degree weather to draw a gigantic rabbit vomiting a rainbow outside dollar tree.

well, this stupid ****** and her gangster homie-G boyfriend are sitting outside talking about baby daddies or something and she's all,

"UH, could ya'll puhlease not draw over hurr?"

and me and m just stared for a second. "Is this.. private property?" says m.

"UH, naw, but this belongs to Dollar General and I'm the manager."

"This is Dollar Tree-"
"LET'S GO DRAW AT WAL-MART."

so we leave her and her baby mama drama and walk half a block to wal-mart where we drop all our shit outside the cart return and commence to drawing a life size alien with a television for a head, and a gigantic cupcake with rainbows behind it.

well, the cart return boy that is making minimum wage to push carts around because they don't care if you have an IQ of 95 or not when they're hiring, as long as you can do hard labour in the hot sun, pages the nasty old manager, whos cranky vag is leaving a trail of sand from the electronic doors all the way to our masterpiece.

we look up in disbelief as her thunder thighs, who haven't seen this much action since bring-a-friend-day at bally fitness last year, come stomping down the sidewalk.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
like we'd been sketching out a gargantuan cock on the cart return pavement.

"Drawing with chalk," m says.
"I SAID WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

i look at m.
"DRAWING WITH CHALK," i repeat for her. COME ON, LADY.
"WHAT?! WHY?"

m decides to chime in.
"Our mom is getting her fingernails painted,"

yeah. play the lost kid in a supermarket card.
she calms down after that. no doubt it was the stirrings of her maternal instinct deep, deep down in her gut, past the lean cuisine and WeightWatchers ice cream bars.

"WELL, we're just going to have to wash this off, with water."
"Okay."

so we pick up our chalk and go sit in my mom's minivan, and i think it was right then that i realized why i am such an angsty teen.
because i look in front of me, and this soccer mom is talking on her cell phone and pushing her cart full of children with children nipping at her heels, no doubt on her way to the rest of her brood's boy scout meeting.

and i look sideways, and i see a GARGANTUAN woman piling roll by roll into a tiny sports car with a wal-mart bakery cake in her pudgy fingers.

and i look behind me, and i see kenneth, the learning disabled kid that graduated from liberty last year, mopping the sidewalk with a bucket of water. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, MC0WN3D.