|Greater Liberal Florida (standard:other, 5425 words)|
|Author: Violet||Added: Jul 04 2003||Views/Reads: 1705/1417||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Wal-Mart, Duct tape, transvestites, and love... this story has everything!|
I am pretty sure that this sucks, as it is Friday night and I've just found waldo again... this time in the circus tent. My sister has stolen off with a roll of tape and won't come off her high horse or out of her room... It is locked, I've checked. Do I hear someone sneaking up the trellis and Laura ripping duct tape? Or making off with rope? Oy. How amusing. Them crazy kids of today, with their tape and rope and... oh, never mind it doesn't matter. “Laura. Darcie. Burke. If you don't give me that back, I am going to plotz!” Mum screams through her door. There is a ripping sound and the roll is under the doorway. Bloody hell. Now I really want to know... Next day: Wal-Mart. I work here now. And I am currently sitting at the counter, forgoing my duties to listen to 90s music. I love 90s music. Wee. “Charley! Cleanup in aisle three!” That's me. Charlotte, ya know. “Oh, thank you, Lola.” Lola (who used to be named Lole and the proud father of three) continued stacking toilet paper. In aisle three, a child had peed the floor. “That's disgusting. What happened?” “My son,” he/she said disdainfully from the sanctuary of aisle six. “The twelve-year-old.” I'm not exactly sure if Lola's son has a mental disability, but he sure loves peeing on things that he has no right to... Last week it was the guava fruit (yes, we do sell guava fruit). Someone complained of rancid guava fruit and threatened to sue. Still not sure if they have, but why bother? Who buys guava fruit from Wal-Mart? Except, of course, for the desperately idiotic or senile Floridian folk. FYI, we live in Fort Lauderdale. Deep in the heart of geriatric-diapers- agogo land (aptly named ‘Florida' by stupid Spanish settlers), our house is right on the beach. Sadly, we are more preoccupied with stacking, cleaning, and purchasing tape to truly take advantage of our ‘unique' surroundings. Or so says our family counselor. He honestly mentioned the tape. Possibly because of Laura and mum's joint obsession with tape (to fix leaks and tie people up, guess which one is which) which often causes family ‘difficulties'. I.e. : ‘Laura Darcie Burke! Where the bloody is the tape? I need it to fix your dad's pants until I have them taken out! Give it to me before I. Bloody. smack. You.' Often followed by a ‘Bitch! Go. buy. Your. Own. Lazy little donkey fuck!' yes, that actually was a direct quote. From Laura, with love. And she is 16. She should well know by now that you get grounded for calling a family member ‘donkey fuck'. There have been ‘donkey fuck' incidents since she learned about the animals the same day she did the swearing somewhere in kindergarten. I was two, but I clearly remember being called both ‘Donkey fuck' and ‘little elephant shit' in the same sentence. And having a Barbie hurled at me from across the room as I drooled calmly into my Mr. Snuggles teddy bear. It hit me square in the head and bounced right back. Bloody hell. “Good day, Charley Donkey fuck!” It is my friend, Delilah, of the pink hair and insane babbling. Laura, though, knows her as ‘mule whore', an addition to aforementioned ‘donkey fuck' incidents. “Hello, Delilah the mule whore.” Delilah does not work at the Wal-Mart. She shops here. Which scares the cow out of me. I asked her yesterday if she'd heard of the infamous guava-fruit incident. She had not. I took the liberty of sparing reaction by not going further into it. She was on about toilet paper, again anyway. It is much too expensive, she says. ‘I don't give a tiny rat's arse that the economy sucks and Bush is a donkey fuck, okay? Mum wants toilet paper for to clean the garage... the cheap kind, damnation!' is a direct quote from the twenty minute rant. I timed it last time. “You know, my dear donkey fuck, it's all Bush's fault. I am of the opinion that he acts as a ruler over a colony of guinea fowl. And his wife is jealous of the nasty beasts... and that explains our nation's lack of packaging tape! Don't even ask what I'm talking about. Charles, my dear, you don't want to know.” I wish she would shut up a lot. That's the beauty of our friendship. And what our nation's packaging tape is really going towards. “Hey, looky here, mule whore. It's Lola's ex-wife. With his twins, too.” The twins are blonde. Their names are Daniel and Marcus. They Click here to read the rest of this story (722 more lines)
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