Tuesday, July 18, 2006


Have you seen the “Bling Bags”? That is what I call them. That is the nicest thing that I can think of to call them. “Horrible God Forsaken White Trash Crap Receptacle” also comes to mind but that is really long and I am really tired.

Now I have seen these Bling Bags down at the DTA when I have been hanging out with the followers of the K-Mart Blue Light, actually I have also seen them at Target as well, bringing that jarring realization when I am shopping that I might have fooled myself into a smug sense of serenity, but I am actually one paisley fun fur flip flop away from the Wal-Mart bargain bin.

Now, I refuse to condone this accessory no matter the age but I can at least understand the attraction if you are say, under 18, a size 2, and are afflicted with the condition of having your cell phone glued to your ear while you talk really loud about "OH MY GAWD! LIKE EVERYTHING!"

I cannot, however, fathom what demonic force from the third circle of hell would posses a woman who is in the neighborhood of 70 and dressed like a nurse for God's sake, to fling this monstrosity over her shoulder and actually walk in public.

Last summer, while waiting in line at the bank, I realized that the gentleman in front of me had unfortunately shit his pants. Not only had he shit his pants, but it appeared that he had plenty of fiber in his diet as his shit ran freely down his leg and puddled in his loafers. Thankfully, he was not wearing socks as THAT would have been REALLY BAD!

Needless to say, the shitty loafer man at the bank didn't disturb me nearly as much as Blingy Grandma.

And don't bitch about how elitist this is and that no matter how old you are, you should be able to act as young as you want. I'm also sick of the damn baby boomers and their eternal youthful glow. I want to sneak up beside them, tap them on the shoulder and whisper in their ear...

"In the end...we're all dead..."


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