Best bouncy in ages!!!!!!11111

[Freeper]

Dreamer Tatum Donating Member (1000+ posts)  Journal Click to send private message to this author Click to view this author's profile Click to add this author to your buddy list Click to add this author to your Ignore list    Sun Jun-19-11 08:18 PM
Original message
My grocery store smackdown.
   
So, I needed a couple of breakfast items, and I live in the reddest part of the reddest city in the reddest state
in the United States. I mean, it's nothing but McMansions, giant trucks, an late-model German sedans where I live,
all with vile bumperstickers, Truck Nutz, and everything you'd expect from a culture that values gain over everything
and everyone else. I would move, of course, but then they would win, and I have to stay here. I have to stay to stick
it to them.

Myself, I drive a paid-off 2005 Prius, and I used to get intimidated in traffic all the time. That was until it dawned
on me that all the truck drivers were compensating for incredibly small penises. When one of them cuts
me off in traffic, which is to say, ALL the time, I just hold up my thumb and forefinger about a quarter inch
apart so they can see it in their rear-view mirrors. I can't tell you the number of trucks that pull over
immediately when I do that. They know exactly what I'm referring to, and it shames them every time.

Anyway, I need some tofu and wheat germ for my usual breakfast, so I walk into the store at about seven AM. It's
packed full of people headed to work. Ordinarily, I'd feel sorry for them, but the volume or giant trucks and
German cars in the lot just made me feel glad that I work from home as a consultant to businesses that generate
green, sustainable energy from composted hemp and edamame husks. While I walked to the cooler where the tofu
is kept, I noticed a long line of angry-looking people at the donut counter. They were mostly fat and baggy-faced,
almost demanding that their donuts be boxed immediately so they could get on the road and cut off other people
while they waited for Rush Limbaugh to come on. I chuckled and thought, 'enjoy your donuts, along with the diabetes
and colon cancer, you freeptards. You don't even want single-payer, you idiots.'

The checkout line was long. Even though there are always a lot of people in that store, they never have enough
checkstands open. This is probably because the store manager wants to save payroll so he gets a bigger bonus,
because I know he sees all the expensive cars in his lot and it kills him. I'll never forget the time I overheard
him tell a stocker that he needed to clock out before he hit overtime, but that didn't mean he could go home,
because the beer cooler needed to be stocked before the football game the next day. Then he told the kid, "And
if I hear that union bullshit from you one more time, you're fired."

Anyway, I'm standing behind this behemoth guy with a giant tattoo on his bicep that I can't make out. He's
a typical suburban rethuglican: tall and fat, with enormous love handles. As he turned slightly, I was not
surprised to see that his tattoo was of a giant Ayn Rand. Seriously: an Ayn Rand tattoo. There is a RW tattoo
parlor here that advertises them on hate radio, and it's the latest thing in rethug fashion. Behind me, meanwhile,
is a guy in a knockoff Zegna suit and fake Chanel sunglasses (I know knockoffs when I see them, even though I
pretty much make all of my own clothes from hemp. When you make your own stuff, you can spot fakes easily.)
I noticed also that the guy in front of me has his keys on a belt clip, and of course there is a giant clump
of padlock keys next to a Ford key. He also has a keychain fob that I can make out as a long quote from Milton
Friedman, which I'm sure this dickhead thinks is just the greatest thing since sliced bread.

Anyway, the guy in front of us trying to pay is an immigrant worker from Mexico. I know this because some mornings
I sit outside the store with him as he waits for some of the assholes in giant trucks to offer him a day's
labor. My Spanish is just a little shaky, but I can understand it pretty well from the downloads I get of
Caracas news stations. His name is Isidro, and he's even given me a nickname: Ben Dayho. I don't know if there's
a sidekick from Mexican folk tales named Ben Dayho, or what, but I like it, and he lights up whenever I walk up
to him and say, "Hola, Isidro! Es mi, Ben Dayho!" Seems to make his day, which is the least I can do.

Isidro is buying an agua fresca, which is a fruit drink, and an apple. Or at least he's trying to buy it, because
there is some confusion at the register. The whole thing usually costs a dollar even, and Isidro is trying to
give a crumpled bill to the cashier. But I can see from the register screen (which has a picture-in-picture
of Fox News playing, naturally) that the price is now $1.10, and evidently Isidro doesn't understand. The cashier,
who this whole time has been winking at the guy with the Ayn Rand tattoo, keeps yelling, "NO! MAS!" And I see
Isidro turning beet red, not knowing what to do, surrounded by all these evil people leering at him. The irony
is that besides me, Isidro has the most healthful purchase...everyone else has what I call Freeper Chow: donuts,
sugared sodas, even beer.

I excuse myself and attempt to give Isidro the extra dime so we can all get going, but before I can, the massive
truck-driving asshole in front of me says, "Whoa, son. See this tattoo? She says we shouldn't be helping each
other. This meskin guy is on his own. And he should be - he looks illegal as hell to me, anyway." The cashier
winked at the guy again, and my blood started a fast boil. The guy behind me pretty much put the icing on the cake
when he said, "You guys are holding up the line. Do you know how much money I make? If you can't afford whatever
it is you're trying to buy, just put it down and be satisfied with whatever you stuffed into your pants anyway.
I work at Goldman Sachs. Won't be long before we own this store, but for now, hurry the **** up. My bonus is on the
line, and that Benz out there ain't free. But you'll never know that." He jingled his keys as though he was making
his point even more.

I cleared my throat with a loud AHEM and said, "Let me tell you something. Your savior may be Ayn Rand, but
I doubt you're capable of reading page one of that republican wet dream rag, and that's saying something,
because it would take a thousand Rands to equal one Gabriel Garcia Marquez on his WORST day. (I used Marquez
because I thought Isidro might recognize the name, him being Mexican and all, and I wanted to be sure that
I picked a Nobel Prize winner. My other choice was Gunther Grass, but that might have been too symbolic for
the freeper and the cashier.) And as for not helping, well, that attitude is what got us where we are now as
a country, not to mention thieves like you (I said that as I turned on my heel and pointed to the guy behind me.).
As for you ' - I pointed at the cashier - 'you should be looking out for guys like him. Since you aren't unionized,
thanks to your manager here, you're one missing dollar short of sitting on that same sidewalk outside. That's
how things are these days. And none of this is sustainable. We're losing rainforest. The seas are rising. Ice
caps are melting. Bank of America is foreclosing on people who haven't been born yet. Education has been slashed
to the degree that students use gum wrappers for textbooks. Our infrastructure is crumbling. There hasn't been
a decent movie since V is for Vendetta. And I. Blame. You."

I flipped a dime to Isidro, who caught it in midair and slammed it down on the counter. I dropped the tofu and
wheat germ on the floor, kicking off my latest boycott. I looked at the store manager and said, "Don't worry -
you'll have your pick of monster trucks soon, because assholes like everyone in this line will be selling
theirs soon to make a single house payment. Except Mr. Goldman here: oil is falling, and so will he be, from
a tall building, because of his losses."

A slow, faint clapping rose from the back of the line, which gathered into a crescendo of raucous applause. As
I walked out, I saw the men on either side of me bow their heads, and the giant freeper clasped his hand over his
Ayn Rand tattoo in shame. The Goldman guy had dialed his cell and was clearly describing me to someone on the other
line; it would probably get rough later. Not that I'm not accustomed to cracking some Blackwater skulls. As I walked
out, Isidro looked up at me with bright, shining eyes and simply said, "Gracias. Gracias, Ben Dayho. Muy Ben Dayho."
I have never been so proud as to be given a nickname by a new friend.

I'm writing all of this as I'm waiting for the news truck to show up. As I calmly walked out of the store
with my tofu and wheat germ, a woman in sweats ran up from behind me, begging me to wait. When I turned and
saw her face, without makeup, I assumed that she was just a victim of domestic violence, ie, the wife of
one of the rethugs I'd just left agape in the store. It wouldn't be the first time I helped the battered wife
of a truck-driving needledick rethug see a better way in life. It turns out, though, that she was a local news
anchor who was just buying some milk. I didn't recognize her because I got rid of my television years ago.
She gave me her card and told me she'd witnessed the entire thing, and she wanted to run a story on me one
night this week. I told her, "Look, Mindy, there are a million other people in this town that deserve a
news story more than me. But I'll do it, if for no other reason than to let people in this town know that the
tide is turning." She took her card back from me, turned it over, and wrote a phone number on the back. She
said it was her personal cell number, and I should call her sometime. I told her I'd consider it, but only
if she dyed her hair a different shade of Fox Anchor Blonde. She winked and said she suddenly realized she
needed to go back into the store for something she forgot.




















I swear this happened.
Refresh | +8 Recommendations    

http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=439x1329640

Almost sounds like something one of us would write to mock the DUmp monkeys. 

[Tucker]

One bounce and splat!

PeaceNikki Donating Member (1000+ posts)  Journal Click to send private message to this author Click to view this author's profile Click to add this author to your buddy list Click to add this author to your Ignore list    Sun Jun-19-11 08:21 PM
Response to Original message
1. meh. No organic drum circles. Sounds fake.

hatrack Donating Member (1000+ posts)  Journal Click to send private message to this author Click to view this author's profile Click to add this author to your buddy list Click to add this author to your Ignore list    Sun Jun-19-11 08:22 PM
Response to Original message
2. Uh, no, sorry - satire requires brevity. This lacks it.

First two replies.

[Chris_]

hatrack Donating Member (1000+ posts)      Sun Jun-19-11 08:22 PM
Response to Original message
2. Uh, no, sorry - satire requires brevity. This lacks it.

Inversely, the truth does not require eye-bleeding-length screeds to establish itself.  You DUmmies haven't managed to grasp that one yet.

[Rufus2010]

Dreamer Tatum Donating Member (1000+ posts)  Journal Click to send private message to this author Click to view this author's profile Click to add this author to your buddy list Click to add this author to your Ignore list    Sun Jun-19-11 08:18 PM
Original message
My grocery store smackdown.
  
So, I needed a couple of breakfast items, and I live in the reddest part of the reddest city in the reddest state
in the United States. I mean, it's nothing but McMansions, giant trucks, an late-model German sedans where I live,
all with vile bumperstickers, Truck Nutz, and everything you'd expect from a culture that values gain over everything
and everyone else. I would move, of course, but then they would win, and I have to stay here. I have to stay to stick
it to them.

Myself, I drive a paid-off 2005 Prius, and I used to get intimidated in traffic all the time. That was until it dawned
on me that all the truck drivers were compensating for incredibly small penises. When one of them cuts
me off in traffic, which is to say, ALL the time, I just hold up my thumb and forefinger about a quarter inch
apart so they can see it in their rear-view mirrors. I can't tell you the number of trucks that pull over
immediately when I do that. They know exactly what I'm referring to, and it shames them every time.

Anyway, I need some tofu and wheat germ for my usual breakfast, so I walk into the store at about seven AM. It's
packed full of people headed to work. Ordinarily, I'd feel sorry for them, but the volume or giant trucks and
German cars in the lot just made me feel glad that I work from home as a consultant to businesses that generate
green, sustainable energy from composted hemp and edamame husks. While I walked to the cooler where the tofu
is kept, I noticed a long line of angry-looking people at the donut counter. They were mostly fat and baggy-faced,
almost demanding that their donuts be boxed immediately so they could get on the road and cut off other people
while they waited for Rush Limbaugh to come on. I chuckled and thought, 'enjoy your donuts, along with the diabetes
and colon cancer, you freeptards. You don't even want single-payer, you idiots.'

The checkout line was long. Even though there are always a lot of people in that store, they never have enough
checkstands open. This is probably because the store manager wants to save payroll so he gets a bigger bonus,
because I know he sees all the expensive cars in his lot and it kills him. I'll never forget the time I overheard
him tell a stocker that he needed to clock out before he hit overtime, but that didn't mean he could go home,
because the beer cooler needed to be stocked before the football game the next day. Then he told the kid, "And
if I hear that union bullshit from you one more time, you're fired."

Anyway, I'm standing behind this behemoth guy with a giant tattoo on his bicep that I can't make out. He's
a typical suburban rethuglican: tall and fat, with enormous love handles. As he turned slightly, I was not
surprised to see that his tattoo was of a giant Ayn Rand. Seriously: an Ayn Rand tattoo. There is a RW tattoo
parlor here that advertises them on hate radio, and it's the latest thing in rethug fashion. Behind me, meanwhile,
is a guy in a knockoff Zegna suit and fake Chanel sunglasses (I know knockoffs when I see them, even though I
pretty much make all of my own clothes from hemp. When you make your own stuff, you can spot fakes easily.)
I noticed also that the guy in front of me has his keys on a belt clip, and of course there is a giant clump
of padlock keys next to a Ford key. He also has a keychain fob that I can make out as a long quote from Milton
Friedman, which I'm sure this dickhead thinks is just the greatest thing since sliced bread.

Anyway, the guy in front of us trying to pay is an immigrant worker from Mexico. I know this because some mornings
I sit outside the store with him as he waits for some of the assholes in giant trucks to offer him a day's
labor. My Spanish is just a little shaky, but I can understand it pretty well from the downloads I get of
Caracas news stations. His name is Isidro, and he's even given me a nickname: Ben Dayho. I don't know if there's
a sidekick from Mexican folk tales named Ben Dayho, or what, but I like it, and he lights up whenever I walk up
to him and say, "Hola, Isidro! Es mi, Ben Dayho!" Seems to make his day, which is the least I can do.

Isidro is buying an agua fresca, which is a fruit drink, and an apple. Or at least he's trying to buy it, because
there is some confusion at the register. The whole thing usually costs a dollar even, and Isidro is trying to
give a crumpled bill to the cashier. But I can see from the register screen (which has a picture-in-picture
of Fox News playing, naturally) that the price is now $1.10, and evidently Isidro doesn't understand. The cashier,
who this whole time has been winking at the guy with the Ayn Rand tattoo, keeps yelling, "NO! MAS!" And I see
Isidro turning beet red, not knowing what to do, surrounded by all these evil people leering at him. The irony
is that besides me, Isidro has the most healthful purchase...everyone else has what I call Freeper Chow: donuts,
sugared sodas, even beer.

I excuse myself and attempt to give Isidro the extra dime so we can all get going, but before I can, the massive
truck-driving asshole in front of me says, "Whoa, son. See this tattoo? She says we shouldn't be helping each
other. This meskin guy is on his own. And he should be - he looks illegal as hell to me, anyway." The cashier
winked at the guy again, and my blood started a fast boil. The guy behind me pretty much put the icing on the cake
when he said, "You guys are holding up the line. Do you know how much money I make? If you can't afford whatever
it is you're trying to buy, just put it down and be satisfied with whatever you stuffed into your pants anyway.
I work at Goldman Sachs. Won't be long before we own this store, but for now, hurry the **** up. My bonus is on the
line, and that Benz out there ain't free. But you'll never know that." He jingled his keys as though he was making
his point even more.

I cleared my throat with a loud AHEM and said, "Let me tell you something. Your savior may be Ayn Rand, but
I doubt you're capable of reading page one of that republican wet dream rag, and that's saying something,
because it would take a thousand Rands to equal one Gabriel Garcia Marquez on his WORST day. (I used Marquez
because I thought Isidro might recognize the name, him being Mexican and all, and I wanted to be sure that
I picked a Nobel Prize winner. My other choice was Gunther Grass, but that might have been too symbolic for
the freeper and the cashier.) And as for not helping, well, that attitude is what got us where we are now as
a country, not to mention thieves like you (I said that as I turned on my heel and pointed to the guy behind me.).
As for you ' - I pointed at the cashier - 'you should be looking out for guys like him. Since you aren't unionized,
thanks to your manager here, you're one missing dollar short of sitting on that same sidewalk outside. That's
how things are these days. And none of this is sustainable. We're losing rainforest. The seas are rising. Ice
caps are melting. Bank of America is foreclosing on people who haven't been born yet. Education has been slashed
to the degree that students use gum wrappers for textbooks. Our infrastructure is crumbling. There hasn't been
a decent movie since V is for Vendetta. And I. Blame. You."

I flipped a dime to Isidro, who caught it in midair and slammed it down on the counter. I dropped the tofu and
wheat germ on the floor, kicking off my latest boycott. I looked at the store manager and said, "Don't worry -
you'll have your pick of monster trucks soon, because assholes like everyone in this line will be selling
theirs soon to make a single house payment. Except Mr. Goldman here: oil is falling, and so will he be, from
a tall building, because of his losses."

A slow, faint clapping rose from the back of the line, which gathered into a crescendo of raucous applause. As
I walked out, I saw the men on either side of me bow their heads, and the giant freeper clasped his hand over his
Ayn Rand tattoo in shame. The Goldman guy had dialed his cell and was clearly describing me to someone on the other
line; it would probably get rough later. Not that I'm not accustomed to cracking some Blackwater skulls. As I walked
out, Isidro looked up at me with bright, shining eyes and simply said, "Gracias. Gracias, Ben Dayho. Muy Ben Dayho."
I have never been so proud as to be given a nickname by a new friend.

I'm writing all of this as I'm waiting for the news truck to show up. As I calmly walked out of the store
with my tofu and wheat germ, a woman in sweats ran up from behind me, begging me to wait. When I turned and
saw her face, without makeup, I assumed that she was just a victim of domestic violence, ie, the wife of
one of the rethugs I'd just left agape in the store. It wouldn't be the first time I helped the battered wife
of a truck-driving needledick rethug see a better way in life. It turns out, though, that she was a local news
anchor who was just buying some milk. I didn't recognize her because I got rid of my television years ago.
She gave me her card and told me she'd witnessed the entire thing, and she wanted to run a story on me one
night this week. I told her, "Look, Mindy, there are a million other people in this town that deserve a
news story more than me. But I'll do it, if for no other reason than to let people in this town know that the
tide is turning." She took her card back from me, turned it over, and wrote a phone number on the back. She
said it was her personal cell number, and I should call her sometime. I told her I'd consider it, but only
if she dyed her hair a different shade of Fox Anchor Blonde. She winked and said she suddenly realized she
needed to go back into the store for something she forgot.


I swear this happened.
Refresh | +8 Recommendations

 

 

Someone buy DreamerTatum a Cliffs Notes book stat!

[Ballygrl]

TaupeDem (13 posts)         Sun Jun-19-11 09:18 PM
Response to Original message
50. It would be more believable if it happened at McDonalds & you confronted a frail senior citizen

mysuzuki2   (854 posts)             Sun Jun-19-11 09:20 PM
Response to Original message
51. Dear Penthouse,
   
I never believed it would happen to me. I was in the supermarket check out line and ....

SixString (153 posts)           Sun Jun-19-11 09:21 PM
Response to Original message
52. Cool story, Bro. n/t

   

aikoaiko (1000+ posts)           Sun Jun-19-11 09:21 PM
Response to Original message
53. I can't even tell you're mocking...
   
You get 4 out of 5 applause.

     

[USA4ME]

 

.

[GOBUCKS]

Ol' TwixVoy is oblivious to everything, but this is exactly the sort of thread that caused the "Great Nadin Bullying Meltdown".
Anyone who casts doubt on a bullshit post is either a bully or a stalker.

[USA4ME]

BTW GoBucks, saw what you discovered on the other thread.  Good find on Twix copying himself.

.

[Freeper]

NYC_SKP DU Moderator Donating Member (1000+ posts)  Journal Click to send private message to this author Click to view this author's profile Click to add this author to your buddy list Click to add this author to your Ignore list    Sun Jun-19-11 09:35 PM
Response to Original message
58. Locking.
   
Deemed to be a post mocking another DU post.

In violation of DU Rules.

NYC_SKP, DU Moderator

 

[Ballygrl]

Well darn! they always ruin our fun.

[thundley4]

NYC_SKP DU Moderator Donating Member (1000+ posts)  Journal Click to send private message to this author Click to view this author's profile Click to add this author to your buddy list Click to add this author to your Ignore list    Sun Jun-19-11 09:35 PM
Response to Original message
58. Locking.
  
Deemed to be a post mocking another DU post.

In violation of DU Rules.

NYC_SKP, DU Moderator

WTH?  Almost every bouncy gets mocked in the same thread these days. Are they going to ban those posters for mocking the OP?

ETA:

Another thread with only one post, soon to be locked.

ScreamingMeemie (1000+ posts)             Sun Jun-19-11 10:11 PM
Original message
Played the "Get Out of Jail Free Card" in a Monopoly game today...
   
and it went over just as well.

Thanks, I'll be here all night.

http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=439x1330055

[dandi]

BWAHAHAHA

Good job, DT.

My favorite line:

But I can see from the register screen (which has a picture-in-picture
of Fox News playing, naturally)

 

[BannedFromDU]

http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=439x1329640

Almost sounds like something one of us would write to mock the DUmp monkeys. 

I like that Dreamer Tatum. He is a fine lad, indeed.

[longview]

Way too long.

He did make me laugh with the Ben Dayho/pendejo joke. 

[Evil_Conservative]

Brilliant.  Just brilliant.

Ben Dayho is a hero.

[WinOne4TheGipper]

http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=439x1329640

Almost sounds like something one of us would write to mock the DUmp monkeys. 

OMG, whoever's mole that is: you are awesome!:wink:

[sybilll]

I flipped a dime to Isidro, who caught it in midair and slammed it down on the counter. I dropped the tofu and
wheat germ on the floor, kicking off my latest boycott. I looked at the store manager and said, "Don't worry -
you'll have your pick of monster trucks soon, because assholes like everyone in this line will be selling
theirs soon to make a single house payment. Except Mr. Goldman here: oil is falling, and so will he be, from
a tall building, because of his losses."

A slow, faint clapping rose from the back of the line, which gathered into a crescendo of raucous applause.

Yeah, had this been even remotely true, they would have been clapping that your skank ass was leaving.

But, oops, did you notice that the failed bouncyer (sp), who threw their tofu and wheat germ on the floor in protest, somehow was holding it when they waited for the new cameras: 

As I calmly walked out of the store
with my tofu and wheat germ,

You doofus

[sybilll]

My bad.  Didn't know this was a spin-off of the other hideous bouncy. 

[Karin]

It got to 58 replies!  That's awesome!  A fine lad, indeed.   

A minor flaw in the story:  If he dropped the wheat germ and tofu on the ground, how is he walking out with it?  Did he pay for it or just steal it? 

[Rebel]

 

[JohnnyReb]

Read about 3 paragraphs and I was ready to puke. I see she eats right, doesn't enjoy life and is going to die a week after I do...and I've enjoyed every life shortening thing there is short of illegal drugs and perverted sex.

I also see she "works?" from home helping Al Gore scam people.

And the best line the DUmmie wrote was "Myself, I drive a paid-off 2005 Prius,"...which should be about due a new battery so she'll be refinancing the house for that.   because the car is now not worth the price of a new battery.

[Rebel]

Read about 3 paragraphs and I was ready to puke. I see she eats right, doesn't enjoy life and is going to die a week after I do...and I've enjoyed every life shortening thing there is short of illegal drugs and perverted sex.

I also see she "works?" from home helping Al Gore scam people.

And the best line the DUmmie wrote was "Myself, I drive a paid-off 2005 Prius,"...which should be about due a new battery so she'll be refinancing the house for that.   because the car is now not worth the price of a new battery.

The Dreamer Tater DUmmie was making fun of the other DUmmies who come up with these asinine bouncy tales.

[BannedFromDU]

Here is my deconstruction of what I believe is a fine sendup of DU bouncy tales. I believe there is more here than meets a first reading. Comments in red.

My grocery store smackdown.
   
So,(In fact, I am the
one who identified "SO" as the first word of most bouncies. The parody has been established immediately.)I needed a couple of breakfast items, and I live in the reddest part of the reddest city in the reddest state
in the United States. I mean, it's nothing but McMansions, giant trucks, an late-model German sedans where I live
(I call this part of the bouncy "setting the table." It's critical to establish the assumption of guilt prior to innocence; identifying
monster trucks and other background elements satisfies this requirement fairly neatly.),
all with vile bumperstickers, Truck Nutz, and everything you'd expect from a culture that values gain over everything
and everyone else. I would move, of course, but then they would win, and I have to stay here. I have to stay to stick
it to them.(It also seldom hurts to establish oneself as the lone champion of justice, else why would one
live among the heathen?)

Myself, I drive a paid-off 2005 Prius (Goes to establish not only credibility, but credibility of the OG type. Well played, DT.), and I used to get intimidated in traffic all the time. That was until it dawned
on me that all the truck drivers were compensating for incredibly small penises. When one of them cuts
me off in traffic, which is to say, ALL the time, I just hold up my thumb and forefinger about a quarter inch
apart so they can see it in their rear-view mirrors. I can't tell you the number of trucks that pull over
immediately when I do that. They know exactly what I'm referring to, and it shames them every time.(Here DT creates a
completely implausible scenario, viz., that someone in another car (a) understands a relatively arcane gesture, (b) sees it in the first place,
and (c) acts upon it in a way that establishes protagonism and antagonism. A table is being set here.)

Anyway, I need some tofu and wheat germ (Hyperbole is a required element to gently burnish that this is, after all, satire) for my usual breakfast, so I walk into the store at about seven AM. It's
packed full of people headed to work. Ordinarily, I'd feel sorry for them, but the volume or giant trucks and
German cars in the lot just made me feel glad that I work from home as a consultant to businesses that generate
green, sustainable energy from composted hemp and edamame husks.(In fact, hyperbole is acceptable in entire paragraphs, as indicated here.) While I walked to the cooler where the tofu
is kept, I noticed a long line of angry-looking people at the donut counter. They were mostly fat and baggy-faced,
almost demanding that their donuts be boxed immediately so they could get on the road and cut off other people
while they waited for Rush Limbaugh to come on. I chuckled and thought, 'enjoy your donuts, along with the diabetes
and colon cancer, you freeptards. You don't even want single-payer, you idiots.(A not-so-subtle reminder that
Republicans vote against their own interests, and in fact their own interests are self-destructive.)'

The checkout line was long.(We need time for events on the critical path to occur.) Even though there are always a lot of people in that store, they never have enough
checkstands open. This is probably because the store manager wants to save payroll so he gets a bigger bonus,
because I know he sees all the expensive cars in his lot and it kills him. I'll never forget the time I overheard
him tell a stocker that he needed to clock out before he hit overtime, but that didn't mean he could go home,
because the beer cooler needed to be stocked before the football game(Establishing shot: a poor stockboy, manipulated
by both the manager and the anti-union NFL.) the next day. Then he told the kid, "And
if I hear that union (De rigeur. ) bullshit from you one more time, you're fired."

Anyway, I'm standing behind this behemoth guy with a giant tattoo on his bicep that I can't make out. He's
a typical suburban rethuglican: tall and fat, with enormous love handles. As he turned slightly, I was not
surprised to see that his tattoo was of a giant Ayn Rand. Seriously: an Ayn Rand tattoo.(This, I believe, is a jab at the quaint DU notion that ignorant rednecks (which do exist) neverthless take the time to read 1,000-page allegories about subtle social and economic issues, and form lucid opinions to the degree that they can be summarized in a tattoo.) There is a RW tattoo
parlor here that advertises them on hate radio(De rigeur.), and it's the latest thing in rethug fashion. Behind me, meanwhile,
is a guy in a knockoff Zegna suit and fake Chanel sunglasses (I know knockoffs when I see them, even though I
pretty much make all of my own clothes from hemp. When you make your own stuff, you can spot fakes easily.)(Here is
where our man DT enters into a new arena of subtlety: in one deft comment, he establishes his own do-it-yourself credentials while
implying just enough urbane, worldly sophistication to (a) make the DU men nod in sympathy, and (b) drop a few DU women's panties.)
I noticed also that the guy in front of me has his keys on a belt clip, and of course there is a giant clump
of padlock keys next to a Ford key. He also has a keychain fob that I can make out as a long quote from Milton
Friedman(Playing again on the emerging DU consensus that conservatives can identify Milton Friedman quotes, and/or that any of them are pithy enough to put on a keychain.), which I'm sure this dickhead thinks is just the greatest thing since sliced bread.

Anyway, the guy in front of us trying to pay is an immigrant worker from Mexico. I know this because some mornings
I sit outside the store with him as he waits for some of the assholes in giant trucks to offer him a day's
labor. My Spanish is just a little shaky, but I can understand it pretty well from the downloads I get of
Caracas news stations.(Key word: Caracas.) His name is Isidro, and he's even given me a nickname: Ben Dayho. I don't know if there's
a sidekick from Mexican folk tales named Ben Dayho, or what, but I like it, and he lights up whenever I walk up
to him and say, "Hola, Isidro! Es mi, Ben Dayho!" Seems to make his day, which is the least I can do.(Here is
where DT elevates himself from trenchant observer of the DUmmy condition to modern Demigod. Ben Dayho? That is inspired for
the simple reason that some DUmmies will notice the clever turn of phrase immediately, while others will simply accept it
as true and allow the irony to elude them altogether.)

Isidro is buying an agua fresca, which is a fruit drink, and an apple. Or at least he's trying to buy it, because
there is some confusion at the register. The whole thing usually costs a dollar even, and Isidro is trying to
give a crumpled bill to the cashier. But I can see from the register screen (which has a picture-in-picture
of Fox News playing(De riguer), naturally) that the price is now $1.10, and evidently Isidro doesn't understand. The cashier,
who this whole time has been winking at the guy with the Ayn Rand tattoo, keeps yelling, "NO! MAS!" And I see
Isidro turning beet red, not knowing what to do, surrounded by all these evil people leering at him. The irony
is that besides me, Isidro has the most healthful purchase...everyone else has what I call Freeper Chow: donuts,
sugared sodas, even beer.(Though DT has clearly established protagonist, antagonist, foils, and so forth,
it never hurts to imply hero status.

I excuse myself and attempt to give Isidro the extra dime so we can all get going, but before I can, the massive
truck-driving asshole in front of me says, "Whoa, son. See this tattoo? She says we shouldn't be helping each
other. This meskin guy is on his own. And he should be - he looks illegal as hell to me, anyway." The cashier
winked at the guy again, and my blood started a fast boil. The guy behind me pretty much put the icing on the cake
when he said, "You guys are holding up the line. Do you know how much money I make? If you can't afford whatever
it is you're trying to buy, just put it down and be satisfied with whatever you stuffed into your pants anyway.
I work at Goldman Sachs. Won't be long before we own this store, but for now, hurry the **** up. My bonus is on the
line, and that Benz out there ain't free. But you'll never know that." He jingled his keys as though he was making
his point even more.(Dialogue can be difficult.)

I cleared my throat with a loud AHEM and said, "Let me tell you something. Your savior may be Ayn Rand, but
I doubt you're capable of reading page one of that republican wet dream rag, and that's saying something,
because it would take a thousand Rands to equal one Gabriel Garcia Marquez on his WORST day. (I used Marquez
because I thought Isidro might recognize the name, him being Mexican and all, and I wanted to be sure that
I picked a Nobel Prize winner. My other choice was Gunther Grass, but that might have been too symbolic for
the freeper and the cashier.(Self-doubt and pseudo-intellectualism never hurts a bouncy. Recall that a bouncy is meant to embellish cultural stereotypes, confer sainthood or hero status, and, if, possible, get a little *****.)) And as for not helping, well, that attitude is what got us where we are now as
a country, not to mention thieves like you (I said that as I turned on my heel and pointed to the guy behind me.).
As for you ' - I pointed at the cashier - 'you should be looking out for guys like him. Since you aren't unionized,
thanks to your manager here, you're one missing dollar short of sitting on that same sidewalk outside. That's
how things are these days. And none of this is sustainable. We're losing rainforest. The seas are rising. Ice
caps are melting. Bank of America is foreclosing on people who haven't been born yet. Education has been slashed
to the degree that students use gum wrappers for textbooks. Our infrastructure is crumbling. There hasn't been
a decent movie since V is for Vendetta. And I. Blame. You.(As I said, dialogue is difficult. DT has a valiant effort here.)"

I flipped a dime to Isidro, who caught it in midair and slammed it down on the counter.(Nice cinematic
touch.) I dropped the tofu and
wheat germ on the floor, kicking off my latest boycott. I looked at the store manager and said, "Don't worry -
you'll have your pick of monster trucks soon, because assholes like everyone in this line will be selling
theirs soon to make a single house payment. Except Mr. Goldman here: oil is falling, and so will he be, from
a tall building, because of his losses."

A slow, faint clapping rose from the back of the line, which gathered into a crescendo of raucous applause. As
I walked out, I saw the men on either side of me bow their heads, and the giant freeper clasped his hand over his
Ayn Rand tattoo in shame.(Victory is never in doubt; retorts are forbidden. The vanquished simply slink away, in true cinematic form.) The Goldman guy had dialed his cell and was clearly describing me to someone on the other
line; it would probably get rough later. Not that I'm not accustomed to cracking some Blackwater skulls.
(Was not expecting a guest appearance by Blackwater, nor an oblique reference to DT's street-fighting skills. Perhaps
this is a paean to the long-departed Seal Team Three member?) As I walked
out, Isidro looked up at me with bright, shining eyes and simply said, "Gracias. Gracias, Ben Dayho. Muy Ben Dayho."
I have never been so proud as to be given a nickname by a new friend.(I marvel again at the subtle wonder of
Ben Dayho.)

I'm writing all of this as I'm waiting for the news truck to show up. As I calmly walked out of the store
with my tofu and wheat germ, a woman in sweats ran up from behind me, begging me to wait. When I turned and
saw her face, without makeup, I assumed that she was just a victim of domestic violence, ie, the wife of
one of the rethugs I'd just left agape in the store. It wouldn't be the first time I helped the battered wife
of a truck-driving needledick rethug see a better way in life(What did I say about *****?). It turns out, though, that she was a local news
anchor who was just buying some milk. I didn't recognize her because I got rid of my television years ago.(Check and MATE, DT.)
She gave me her card and told me she'd witnessed the entire thing, and she wanted to run a story on me one
night this week. I told her, "Look, Mindy, there are a million other people in this town that deserve a
news story more than me. But I'll do it, if for no other reason than to let people in this town know that the
tide is turning." She took her card back from me, turned it over, and wrote a phone number on the back. She
said it was her personal cell number, and I should call her sometime. I told her I'd consider it, but only
if she dyed her hair a different shade of Fox Anchor Blonde. She winked and said she suddenly realized she
needed to go back into the store for something she forgot.(Ah yes, gently prodding at the ubiquitous yet subtle DU misogyny.
Notice how this story ends much like a cross between Walking Tall and a James Bond movie. Does Ben Dayho save a day laborer, his own
dignity, or score a hot piece of ass just waiting to be converted to moonbat? Well, can't we have it all?)

[jukin]

9.5 BONGS.  Just didn't quite stick the landing.

[shadeaux]

Dreamer Tatum