is now available at amazon, & besides featurin' a handul of other folks, also has a story by yrs truely...REBEL S. NERD.
it's only 10 bucks & you know you want it. if you got one of them stupid fuckin' kindle things, amazon says you can read it on yr gadget in under a minute for $2. fuck a kindle. the physical is where it's at, & we think you know this. least we hope so.
GO HERE FOR ZE BOOK
Showing posts with label miscellaneous rebel stuff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label miscellaneous rebel stuff. Show all posts
Friday, February 26, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
The most beautiful obituary that I have ever read
I found this obituary courtesy of obscure store & reading room.
This man is my hero.
Monday, September 15, 2008 2:05 AM MDT
DOUGLAS -- A celebration of life for James William "Jim" Adams, 53, will be held at a later date.
He died Tuesday, Sept. 9, 2008 at Memorial Hospital of Converse County in Douglas.
Jim, who had tired of reading obituaries noting other's courageous battles with this or that disease, wanted it known that he lost his battle. It was primarily as a result of being stubborn and not following doctor's orders or maybe for just living life a little too hard for better than five decades.
He was born June 8, 1955 in Garrison, N.D. the son of James William and Ruby Helen (Clark) Adams.
He was sadly deprived of his final wish, which was to be run over by a beer truck on the way to the liquor store to buy booze for a date. True to his personal style, he spent his final hours joking with medical personnel, cussing and begging for narcotics and bargaining with God to look over his loving dog, Biscuit, and his family.
He would like to thank all "his ladies" for putting up with him the last 30 years.
During his life, he excelled at anything he put his mind to. He loved to hear and tell jokes and spin tales of grand adventures he may or may not have had.
He is survived by five sons, Jeremiah Adams and his wife, Nicole, Mica Olivas, Wade Olivas, Brice Simpson and Cole Adams; sister, Jerri Giegerich; two ex-wives, Vickie Harrison and Marilyn Williams; four grandchildren; two nieces; and two great-nieces.
He was preceded in death by his parents and a brother-in-law.
In lieu of flowers, he asks that you make a sizeable purchase at your favorite watering hole, get rip roaring drunk and tell the stories he no longer can.
Gorman Funeral Homes - Converse Chapel of Douglas is in charge of the arrangements.
This man is my hero.
Monday, September 15, 2008 2:05 AM MDT
DOUGLAS -- A celebration of life for James William "Jim" Adams, 53, will be held at a later date.
He died Tuesday, Sept. 9, 2008 at Memorial Hospital of Converse County in Douglas.
Jim, who had tired of reading obituaries noting other's courageous battles with this or that disease, wanted it known that he lost his battle. It was primarily as a result of being stubborn and not following doctor's orders or maybe for just living life a little too hard for better than five decades.
He was born June 8, 1955 in Garrison, N.D. the son of James William and Ruby Helen (Clark) Adams.
He was sadly deprived of his final wish, which was to be run over by a beer truck on the way to the liquor store to buy booze for a date. True to his personal style, he spent his final hours joking with medical personnel, cussing and begging for narcotics and bargaining with God to look over his loving dog, Biscuit, and his family.
He would like to thank all "his ladies" for putting up with him the last 30 years.
During his life, he excelled at anything he put his mind to. He loved to hear and tell jokes and spin tales of grand adventures he may or may not have had.
He is survived by five sons, Jeremiah Adams and his wife, Nicole, Mica Olivas, Wade Olivas, Brice Simpson and Cole Adams; sister, Jerri Giegerich; two ex-wives, Vickie Harrison and Marilyn Williams; four grandchildren; two nieces; and two great-nieces.
He was preceded in death by his parents and a brother-in-law.
In lieu of flowers, he asks that you make a sizeable purchase at your favorite watering hole, get rip roaring drunk and tell the stories he no longer can.
Gorman Funeral Homes - Converse Chapel of Douglas is in charge of the arrangements.
Things I learned at gunschool
Yesterday, I attended concealed handgun license school, because I live in Texas, and we're allowed to carry guns. I found the class quite educational, and I'd like to share some of the things I learned.
1. Jesus highly encourages the use of firearms. Scripture was read to prove it. I'm not sure how the other religions feel about it, but I doubt most Texans care what Buddha has to say on the subject.
2. In the state of Texas, if someone shows you their anus, and you don't want to see it, the anus-show-er can be charged for disorderly conduct. Then they lose their right to carry a concealed handgun. If, however, you're in a bar, and someone shows their anus, and everyone in the bar is really excited to see the anus, that is okay.
3.If you stand next to a man on the firing line and sink your first five shots directly center, that man will be slightly scared of you, and feel the need to explain that he is using a brand new gun, and that is why he is shooting like shit.
4. If someone is stealing my stereo, or even my neighbor's stereo, it is legal to shoot them in Texas.
I hope you have gained as much from this knowledge as I have.
Love,
Rebel the legally gun-toting Texan
1. Jesus highly encourages the use of firearms. Scripture was read to prove it. I'm not sure how the other religions feel about it, but I doubt most Texans care what Buddha has to say on the subject.
2. In the state of Texas, if someone shows you their anus, and you don't want to see it, the anus-show-er can be charged for disorderly conduct. Then they lose their right to carry a concealed handgun. If, however, you're in a bar, and someone shows their anus, and everyone in the bar is really excited to see the anus, that is okay.
3.If you stand next to a man on the firing line and sink your first five shots directly center, that man will be slightly scared of you, and feel the need to explain that he is using a brand new gun, and that is why he is shooting like shit.
4. If someone is stealing my stereo, or even my neighbor's stereo, it is legal to shoot them in Texas.
I hope you have gained as much from this knowledge as I have.
Love,
Rebel the legally gun-toting Texan
Editing books...I fucking hate it.
I'd much prefer to hand it to someone else and let them correct all the nasty spellings and awkward turns of phrase. Editing is like ceaseless masturbation with no foreseeable climax. What the fuck am I talking about? I'm not sure, but I do know what I'm avoiding. Hours spent at a computer screen, hitting backspace and staring at the ceiling.
Hey! You wanna hear a story? How about several that I copied and pasted from recent correspondence with people I may or may not know? With absolutely no context provided because I'm too lazy? I don't care if you want to or not, that's not stopping me. I've got book editing to avoid and dishes that I don't wanna wash AND black bean tacos I promised to make for dinner, and I'd much rather sit here on the couch, typing nonsense and wishing I wasn't too lazy to walk to my sorry excuse for a porch and smoke a cigarette.
Context-less story #1...Abolish food stamps
I think it's at the health dept., but I cain't say for certain. My mama
used to spend $40 worth of food stamps on ingredients for a single
salad, with big ol' t-bones for Puger (my 2nd step-dad), and Little
Debbie snacks. We wouldn't drink nothin' but Dr. Pepper for days. When
we ran out of Dr. Pepper, we switched to Tropical Punch Kool-Aid
(possibly smuggled outside of David's Food Store in the purse of my
sticky-fingered mama). By the end of the month, we didn't eat nothin'
but shit-on-a-shingle.
Then mama found out that her heroin dealer (my aunt) would buy her
foodstamps for fifty cents on the dollar, so we stopped gettin' Dr.
Pepper and started eatin' expired snack cakes pulled out of the trash
at the Hostess factory. My teeth hummed.
That's why I'm a firm believer that food stamps should be abolished and
replaced with a smoother WIC program. Give hungry folks vouchers for
fruit juice, cheese, and vegetables. This country's gonna hafta slide
pretty gawd-damn far before a dealer will trade you smack equal to half
the value of a box of generic corn flakes and a hunk of cheddar cheese.
Not to mention promoting nutrition among the poor working class, taking
burden from the taxpayer, and discouraging greedy motherfucks.
When I opened the front door this morning, I felt like Snow White. The sun was just breaking over the pines, and a pair of cardinals were playing in the front yard. A blue jay buzzed by, and the fat gray squirrel that lives in my oak tree puffed himself up and barked at me. A smaller pair of squirrels was stealing pecans from my side yard. A moth landed on my arm. Then the retarded guy with the stomach tumor that walks in my neighborhood walked past and ruined the scene.
Context-less story #2...Jeff the Real Live Cowboy
Those boots belong to a real live cowboy named Jeff. Not only is
Jeff one of the best people I've ever met, he's movie star handsome.
He's kinda like Josh Brolin's character in "No Country For Old Men",
except instead of dry-ass SW Texas, he's in the majestic piney woods of
east Texas. Jeff likes to buy $3000 Sauer rifles (engineered and
manufactured in Germany...fine hunting rifles...Sham-WOW beware of
imitators) and he straps them to the back of his ATV as he patrols the
wooded edges of his cow pasture. He shoots the coyotes that kill the
calves. He said he vaporized one and it made him very happy. That
doesn't make him sound like a nice guy.
Okay, here's another story...recently, Jeff had a cow birth the first set of twin calves he's ever had. Forty-five minutes later, a Mexican vulture (no code, an
actual vulture from Mexico) swooped from the sky and stole one of the
twins. In the excitement, the heifer trampled the other twin to death,
and Jeff cried like a baby. The next day, he heard about another
rancher that lost his heifer and had a baby cow and no time to bottle
feed it. Jeff bought the calf and bottle fed it himself in the living
room. When baby Jake was two weeks old, Jeff loaded him into a big dog
carrier and took him visit a pre-school. Then, he brought Jake to see
me at work, and he let me hug the baby cow, and didn't laugh at me
while I did it. And that's why I think Jeff is one of the greatest guys
ever.
I've got a gawd-damned zoo under my house. There's the big fat feral cat that I call Hitler because of his vile nature and kitty mustache. Hitler lived alone for almost two years, but now he's been joined by Siamese Bitch. Last week Sophie knocked on the door to be let in, and I didn't answer immediately. My delay resulted in Siamese Bitch delivering an ass-whooping of epic proportions, and Sophie wouldn't talk to me for three days. Then, sometime early Saturday morning, a bitch climbed under the house and birthed her litter under my fireplace, and I can hear the puppies under the floorboards. Papa shoved a bowl of dog food under the house with a broom, in an effort to keep her from dying under there. I really hope she doesn't die under there. I tried to coax her out by wildly waving a chicken biscuit in her direction, but she was not swayed. I wish those puppies would shut up, I'm trying to think.
Context-less story #3...I really like gorditas
HOLY SHIT! You know how to make gorditas? When I was in high school my
best friend's mom used to make them for our after school snack. When
Taco Bell announced gorditas, I was halfway excited, but we know what a
fucking travesty that turned out to be. And I think the lady that sells
me fresh cheese and jalapeno tamales every Friday is considering taking
a restraining order against me because I will not stop harassing her
about making me gorditas. But now! But now I know that my awesome
brother-in-law can make them.
So, what do I have to do to get in on this gordita action? Perhaps
after dad helps me build my backyard pizza oven, I can trade you my
famous pesto chicken pizza w/ red bell pepper and purple onion sauteed
in balsamic vinegar, feta, sun-dried tomatoes, and smoked mozzarella?
Do I sound psychotic? Am I scaring you?
I've got a powerful hunger. Gonna fill my hunger hole with toast. Delicious toast.
Hey! You wanna hear a story? How about several that I copied and pasted from recent correspondence with people I may or may not know? With absolutely no context provided because I'm too lazy? I don't care if you want to or not, that's not stopping me. I've got book editing to avoid and dishes that I don't wanna wash AND black bean tacos I promised to make for dinner, and I'd much rather sit here on the couch, typing nonsense and wishing I wasn't too lazy to walk to my sorry excuse for a porch and smoke a cigarette.
Context-less story #1...Abolish food stamps
I think it's at the health dept., but I cain't say for certain. My mama
used to spend $40 worth of food stamps on ingredients for a single
salad, with big ol' t-bones for Puger (my 2nd step-dad), and Little
Debbie snacks. We wouldn't drink nothin' but Dr. Pepper for days. When
we ran out of Dr. Pepper, we switched to Tropical Punch Kool-Aid
(possibly smuggled outside of David's Food Store in the purse of my
sticky-fingered mama). By the end of the month, we didn't eat nothin'
but shit-on-a-shingle.
Then mama found out that her heroin dealer (my aunt) would buy her
foodstamps for fifty cents on the dollar, so we stopped gettin' Dr.
Pepper and started eatin' expired snack cakes pulled out of the trash
at the Hostess factory. My teeth hummed.
That's why I'm a firm believer that food stamps should be abolished and
replaced with a smoother WIC program. Give hungry folks vouchers for
fruit juice, cheese, and vegetables. This country's gonna hafta slide
pretty gawd-damn far before a dealer will trade you smack equal to half
the value of a box of generic corn flakes and a hunk of cheddar cheese.
Not to mention promoting nutrition among the poor working class, taking
burden from the taxpayer, and discouraging greedy motherfucks.
When I opened the front door this morning, I felt like Snow White. The sun was just breaking over the pines, and a pair of cardinals were playing in the front yard. A blue jay buzzed by, and the fat gray squirrel that lives in my oak tree puffed himself up and barked at me. A smaller pair of squirrels was stealing pecans from my side yard. A moth landed on my arm. Then the retarded guy with the stomach tumor that walks in my neighborhood walked past and ruined the scene.
Context-less story #2...Jeff the Real Live Cowboy
Those boots belong to a real live cowboy named Jeff. Not only is
Jeff one of the best people I've ever met, he's movie star handsome.
He's kinda like Josh Brolin's character in "No Country For Old Men",
except instead of dry-ass SW Texas, he's in the majestic piney woods of
east Texas. Jeff likes to buy $3000 Sauer rifles (engineered and
manufactured in Germany...fine hunting rifles...Sham-WOW beware of
imitators) and he straps them to the back of his ATV as he patrols the
wooded edges of his cow pasture. He shoots the coyotes that kill the
calves. He said he vaporized one and it made him very happy. That
doesn't make him sound like a nice guy.
Okay, here's another story...recently, Jeff had a cow birth the first set of twin calves he's ever had. Forty-five minutes later, a Mexican vulture (no code, an
actual vulture from Mexico) swooped from the sky and stole one of the
twins. In the excitement, the heifer trampled the other twin to death,
and Jeff cried like a baby. The next day, he heard about another
rancher that lost his heifer and had a baby cow and no time to bottle
feed it. Jeff bought the calf and bottle fed it himself in the living
room. When baby Jake was two weeks old, Jeff loaded him into a big dog
carrier and took him visit a pre-school. Then, he brought Jake to see
me at work, and he let me hug the baby cow, and didn't laugh at me
while I did it. And that's why I think Jeff is one of the greatest guys
ever.
I've got a gawd-damned zoo under my house. There's the big fat feral cat that I call Hitler because of his vile nature and kitty mustache. Hitler lived alone for almost two years, but now he's been joined by Siamese Bitch. Last week Sophie knocked on the door to be let in, and I didn't answer immediately. My delay resulted in Siamese Bitch delivering an ass-whooping of epic proportions, and Sophie wouldn't talk to me for three days. Then, sometime early Saturday morning, a bitch climbed under the house and birthed her litter under my fireplace, and I can hear the puppies under the floorboards. Papa shoved a bowl of dog food under the house with a broom, in an effort to keep her from dying under there. I really hope she doesn't die under there. I tried to coax her out by wildly waving a chicken biscuit in her direction, but she was not swayed. I wish those puppies would shut up, I'm trying to think.
Context-less story #3...I really like gorditas
HOLY SHIT! You know how to make gorditas? When I was in high school my
best friend's mom used to make them for our after school snack. When
Taco Bell announced gorditas, I was halfway excited, but we know what a
fucking travesty that turned out to be. And I think the lady that sells
me fresh cheese and jalapeno tamales every Friday is considering taking
a restraining order against me because I will not stop harassing her
about making me gorditas. But now! But now I know that my awesome
brother-in-law can make them.
So, what do I have to do to get in on this gordita action? Perhaps
after dad helps me build my backyard pizza oven, I can trade you my
famous pesto chicken pizza w/ red bell pepper and purple onion sauteed
in balsamic vinegar, feta, sun-dried tomatoes, and smoked mozzarella?
Do I sound psychotic? Am I scaring you?
I've got a powerful hunger. Gonna fill my hunger hole with toast. Delicious toast.
Join my cause!
Dear Zombie Survival Squad,
As we all know, the time of the zombie uprising is rapidly approaching, so I wanted to take some time from my busy schedule of home fortification and firearms training (Remember, ONLY headshots count!) to bring you up to speed on accomplishments, and to let you know what we're working on for the next few months.
My brother Paul, head of our elite security force, has done an excellent job of stockpiling a delightful array of firearms and ammunition, despite the troubles currently facing the gun industry. Firearms and ammo will be VITAL to our survival during the uprising, not only to protect us from the armies of the undead, but the human attackers that are sure to follow. I've said it time and again, those among us that did not prepare for the apocalypse will attempt to overthrow us and steal what is ours, but we will beat them back with bullets. When our position is secure, the guns will continue to aid our cause by providing us with fresh meat. I'd like to take this opportunity to remind you to perform maintenance on your weapons now. You will not have time later.
Staley, Jack, Dad and Diana have also done an admirable job of acquiring an arsenal for our defense, and Diana has taken the additional step of storing food and water in the event that we get trapped by the flesh-eaters outside the security of our compound. Way to go that extra mile Diana!
Dot's firearm training is progressing rapidly. She can now shoot the stem off a pumpkin at 300 yards, and squirrels don't stand a chance when she's in the vicinity. Dot also learned to dis-assemble, clean, and re-assemble her 1911 and her AR-15 in less than three minutes. I hope your children are doing as well. If you don't teach them to shoot, you are handicapping them. Might as well just feed them to the zombies yourself.
By the time you read this, we will have finished construction of our electrified perimeter wall, the water storage facility, and the greenhouse (the tomatoes and squash are plentiful, though I worry for the peppers. Alas, I am a supreme leader, not a gardener, and I hope to pass the greenhouse duties off to those of you that are qualified soon, so that I may expend my energies on things I am meant to do, such as ruling with an iron, yet benevolent fist, and planning the new utopia, which I am thinking of naming "Rebel World". But I digress...) We will be breaking ground for the first of three planned electricity generating windmills this fall, and work on the explosives filled trench will begin soon after.
I am delighted to add that my gunsmith, Richard, will be bringing both of his cannons to the house (henceforth known as Rebel's Apocalypse Ranch or R.A.w.R. for short). The cannons will be mounted to the roof of R.A.w.R., where they will be a critical link in our defense for the first months of the undead crisis. Richard's expertise in firearms repair and ammo reloading will help position us for global domination when the undead no longer menace our fields and forests. The next time you visit R.A.w.R., please make Richard feel welcome, he's a good man and an excellent addition to our team.
In closing, we have made a lot of positive steps toward our future survival, but there are many miles left to go. If you have not yet contributed to the school bus fortification fund, please do. If you don't remember, we originally planned to tunnel from R.A.w.R. to the old tunnel system that runs under Nacogdoches (to give us easy access to supplies) , but ultimately dismissed it as unrealistic. Dad saved the day when he suggested a school bus reinforced with sheet metal, which could be driven THROUGH Wal-Mart if necessary (and we all know it will probably be necessary). Dad would like to start welding when the heat breaks, but some of you have yet to make your contributions, and we are several thousand dollars short of our goal. Please don't make us turn you away from the gates of your salvation because your dues are delinquent.
Let me know what preparations you and your clan are making for the apocalypse, and I would be glad to share them with the rest of the group. I can't wait until the day we are all together, united in battle against our foes, but never forget, I am in charge
Organize before they rise,
Rebel, your future leader
As we all know, the time of the zombie uprising is rapidly approaching, so I wanted to take some time from my busy schedule of home fortification and firearms training (Remember, ONLY headshots count!) to bring you up to speed on accomplishments, and to let you know what we're working on for the next few months.
My brother Paul, head of our elite security force, has done an excellent job of stockpiling a delightful array of firearms and ammunition, despite the troubles currently facing the gun industry. Firearms and ammo will be VITAL to our survival during the uprising, not only to protect us from the armies of the undead, but the human attackers that are sure to follow. I've said it time and again, those among us that did not prepare for the apocalypse will attempt to overthrow us and steal what is ours, but we will beat them back with bullets. When our position is secure, the guns will continue to aid our cause by providing us with fresh meat. I'd like to take this opportunity to remind you to perform maintenance on your weapons now. You will not have time later.
Staley, Jack, Dad and Diana have also done an admirable job of acquiring an arsenal for our defense, and Diana has taken the additional step of storing food and water in the event that we get trapped by the flesh-eaters outside the security of our compound. Way to go that extra mile Diana!
Dot's firearm training is progressing rapidly. She can now shoot the stem off a pumpkin at 300 yards, and squirrels don't stand a chance when she's in the vicinity. Dot also learned to dis-assemble, clean, and re-assemble her 1911 and her AR-15 in less than three minutes. I hope your children are doing as well. If you don't teach them to shoot, you are handicapping them. Might as well just feed them to the zombies yourself.
By the time you read this, we will have finished construction of our electrified perimeter wall, the water storage facility, and the greenhouse (the tomatoes and squash are plentiful, though I worry for the peppers. Alas, I am a supreme leader, not a gardener, and I hope to pass the greenhouse duties off to those of you that are qualified soon, so that I may expend my energies on things I am meant to do, such as ruling with an iron, yet benevolent fist, and planning the new utopia, which I am thinking of naming "Rebel World". But I digress...) We will be breaking ground for the first of three planned electricity generating windmills this fall, and work on the explosives filled trench will begin soon after.
I am delighted to add that my gunsmith, Richard, will be bringing both of his cannons to the house (henceforth known as Rebel's Apocalypse Ranch or R.A.w.R. for short). The cannons will be mounted to the roof of R.A.w.R., where they will be a critical link in our defense for the first months of the undead crisis. Richard's expertise in firearms repair and ammo reloading will help position us for global domination when the undead no longer menace our fields and forests. The next time you visit R.A.w.R., please make Richard feel welcome, he's a good man and an excellent addition to our team.
In closing, we have made a lot of positive steps toward our future survival, but there are many miles left to go. If you have not yet contributed to the school bus fortification fund, please do. If you don't remember, we originally planned to tunnel from R.A.w.R. to the old tunnel system that runs under Nacogdoches (to give us easy access to supplies) , but ultimately dismissed it as unrealistic. Dad saved the day when he suggested a school bus reinforced with sheet metal, which could be driven THROUGH Wal-Mart if necessary (and we all know it will probably be necessary). Dad would like to start welding when the heat breaks, but some of you have yet to make your contributions, and we are several thousand dollars short of our goal. Please don't make us turn you away from the gates of your salvation because your dues are delinquent.
Let me know what preparations you and your clan are making for the apocalypse, and I would be glad to share them with the rest of the group. I can't wait until the day we are all together, united in battle against our foes, but never forget, I am in charge
Organize before they rise,
Rebel, your future leader
He's Been Lonely Since His Daddy Died
Brother Otis says he knows
we're married women
and he would never try
to get out of line.
It's just that he owns
two big old houses,
a farm he got when
his daddy passed over.
He wants to see us,
maybe invite us to visit
the Baptist church service.
They usually got cookies there.
He misses us a lot.
been lonely, 'specially
since Tyler stopped showin'
Hogan's Heroes.
And he wonders
if we have for sale
a gut hook knife.
Preferably with a sheath.
we're married women
and he would never try
to get out of line.
It's just that he owns
two big old houses,
a farm he got when
his daddy passed over.
He wants to see us,
maybe invite us to visit
the Baptist church service.
They usually got cookies there.
He misses us a lot.
been lonely, 'specially
since Tyler stopped showin'
Hogan's Heroes.
And he wonders
if we have for sale
a gut hook knife.
Preferably with a sheath.
Nothing like sand in your eye
When I was six years old, the kind people at the local Wal-Mart invited my class to visit their store for a lesson in capitalism. Miss Minshew's class was lined up single file on the sidewalk, facing one of those big plastic sandboxes.
"Children," said the Wal-Mart manager, "do you know what money is?"
Miss Minshew's class all hollered, "Yes!"
"Good. Do you know what money is for?"
We stared at her. "It's to buy things," she said. "Like your parents do when they come to Wal-Mart. Now, I have a very special surprise for you. Does everyone see the sandbox?"
"YES," I screamed with the rest of the class.
"We have buried one hundred dollars worth of one dollar bills and five dollar bills inside that sandbox, and when I blow this whistle, I want you all to run to the sandbox and start digging. You get to keep whatever you find, but you have to spend it inside Wal-Mart."
The class lost it's fucking mind. As soon as Ms. Wal-Mart touched the whistle around her neck, the entire class bolted toward the treasure. I dove into the box with Jennifer Carter hot on my heels. She landed on top of me, her left knee crushing my ribcage. My best friend, Stormy Garcia, elbowed me in the nose, and Shawn Smith threw sand in my eyes. I soldiered through the pain and frantically clawed at the sand, desperate to claim my share of the treasure. My hands touched paper, and I pulled out a five dollar bill, only to have it snatched from my hand by Missy Spencer, who ran towards Miss Minshew, hollering, "Rebel tried to take this five dollar bill I found."
I didn't get to buy anything at the Wal-Mart, so I sat in the sandbox while the rest of the class shopped, nursing my wounds.
Fucking Wal-Mart.
"Children," said the Wal-Mart manager, "do you know what money is?"
Miss Minshew's class all hollered, "Yes!"
"Good. Do you know what money is for?"
We stared at her. "It's to buy things," she said. "Like your parents do when they come to Wal-Mart. Now, I have a very special surprise for you. Does everyone see the sandbox?"
"YES," I screamed with the rest of the class.
"We have buried one hundred dollars worth of one dollar bills and five dollar bills inside that sandbox, and when I blow this whistle, I want you all to run to the sandbox and start digging. You get to keep whatever you find, but you have to spend it inside Wal-Mart."
The class lost it's fucking mind. As soon as Ms. Wal-Mart touched the whistle around her neck, the entire class bolted toward the treasure. I dove into the box with Jennifer Carter hot on my heels. She landed on top of me, her left knee crushing my ribcage. My best friend, Stormy Garcia, elbowed me in the nose, and Shawn Smith threw sand in my eyes. I soldiered through the pain and frantically clawed at the sand, desperate to claim my share of the treasure. My hands touched paper, and I pulled out a five dollar bill, only to have it snatched from my hand by Missy Spencer, who ran towards Miss Minshew, hollering, "Rebel tried to take this five dollar bill I found."
I didn't get to buy anything at the Wal-Mart, so I sat in the sandbox while the rest of the class shopped, nursing my wounds.
Fucking Wal-Mart.
Dollar General, where the down and out come to meet and mingle
A conversation I overheard in Dollar General while waiting to pay for my eggs and razorblades...
The man behind me in line slapped a pair of pants down on the counter and announced, "I'm gonna wear these blue jeans til they turn pink."
"Alright," replied the helpful new Dollar General manager. "How are you today?"
"Pretty good I reckon," said Mr. Pinkjeans.
"Would you like to donate a dollar for cancer research," asked the manager.
"I don't give a crap about that," said Mr. Pinkjeans.
The man behind me in line slapped a pair of pants down on the counter and announced, "I'm gonna wear these blue jeans til they turn pink."
"Alright," replied the helpful new Dollar General manager. "How are you today?"
"Pretty good I reckon," said Mr. Pinkjeans.
"Would you like to donate a dollar for cancer research," asked the manager.
"I don't give a crap about that," said Mr. Pinkjeans.
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