Friday, September 26, 2003

With the weekend fast approaching, your path may very well lead to a shopping mall of some sort. Do you ever feel tired with the rigors of rampant spending and heady materialism? No? Then get the flippin’ fark off my front porch, gentle reader.

For those who desire the consummate shopping experience, listen up. I’ve always wanted to do this, but weekend business trips to Syberia–that’s the secret to obtaining fantastic wholesale snow, by the way–have repeatedly barred me from doing so. All you need are a) your wits and b) a meat mallet. Here’s what to do, so pay close attention.

Make your way to a shopping mall with this store. Check to see if you brought a friend along; you wouldn’t want your efforts to go unnoticed, would you? Place your hands on the doors, one hand on each door, and barge in like you own the place.

Immediately consult the nearest employee about getting a job as (this is the critical part, dear reader) a law clerk for the establishment. The crafty employee will probably play dumb, but you must be resolute. Nothing screams resolution more, incidentally, than pounding on the counter with your fist. Even if you insist you know Mr. Biddle himself and how you’ll eclipse him as a future partner, the worker will probably dismiss you or even scoff at you.

This should be your signal to pretend to fish for your resume. I didn’t tell you to bring it and for good reason. Recall that you brought a meat mallet, which should be whipped out instead and banged repeatedly on the counter. You should ask for order, by all means, but don’t be surprised if people dressed like the police enter the store.

These are actually your bailiffs, so don’t be fooled! Demand that they arrest all the lying employees along with Bailey, Banks, and that f*cker Biddle.

Well, I’ve left enough room for improvisation, so good luck! Let me know how things go.