Long posts ahead.

Long posts ahead. Sorry for their length. I hope you don't have anything to do for the next five minutes.

Even though I shop there...confirmation that Target is Evil.

David Blain is doing a new stunt. And it confirms that Target is evil.

You like that? That's called a "gripping opener." You're gripped. You're curious. Okay.

David Blaine (From the Planet Ne-Bali, way, way, way...far...away... [Everyone who recognizes what movie that line is from, can be my Valentine this year!!! Should be pretty easy for many of you...because you're smart people...YAY! LOTS OF VALENTINES!]) is doing a new stunt, where he has three days to shimmy out of a constantly-spinning gyroscope, into which he is shackled, three-stories above Times Square.

If he does this, Target and the Salvation Army will give 100 poor families $500.00 to spend at Target, a Blain-accompanied Shopping Spree!

OMG, I KNOW, RIGHT!? THAT iS SOOOOO NICE. AND WE ALL TOTALLY WANT HIM TO DO IT, BECAUSE THAT'S SUCH A NICE HOLIDAY STORY, AND OH MY GOD, DAVID BLAIN IS USING HIS HOUDINI-ANTICS FOR THE GREATER GOOD, TO HELP THE POOR! HE'S A GREAT GUY! AND HE'S GOING TO MAKE SOME NEEDY PEOPLE REALLY HAPPY! AND HONESTLY, ISN'T GOODWILL TOWARDS MEN, AND REMEMBERING THE NEEDY THE "HALLMARK" (HA-HA-I THOUGHT OF A PUN!) OF THE HOLIDAY SEASON?! WOW, GO YOU, DAVID BLAIN, AND GO YOU, TARGET, FOR GIVING A HUNDRED NEEDY FAMILIES FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS TO SPEND IN YOUR STORES! THAT IS SO GENEROUS! YOU'RE A GREAT CORPORATION, TARGET! TARGET, IT'S SO GREAT THAT YOU'RE DOING THIS! TARGET, YOU'RE NOT A HUGE CORPORATION WITH STORES EVERYWHERE, YOU'RE A CARING COMPANY, TARGET, THAT ALSO HAS EVERYTHING I NEED FOR MY HOME, TARGET! DAVID AND TARGET, GO YOU GUYS!

That's what we're all thinking. Target. But then, I thought, "Oh. But last time, David Blain didn't finish his stunt; he didn't stay under water and break the World's record, after living in a bubble of water for a disgustingly long period of time..."

Target.

And THEN, I thought, "Target is funding this Sweeps Spectacle...which everyone is going to hear about, at LEAST one time - that Target is funding David Blaine... and the way they've couched it, it seems like they're giving a LOT of families a LOT of money... And it makes us feel really warm and fuzzy, but we do the math and 500 x 100 only comes out to $50,000. And EVERYONE is going to think about Target at least once in the next few days now because, of this advertising, and we'll feel good about Target as a corporate sponsor and vendor right around Christmas-time, {Because it's giving away a LOT of money, y'all!} (Even though probably makes $50,000.00 in five minutes on a Saturday), BUT ON TOP OF EVERYTHING ELSE - IT's VERY LIKELY THAT DAVID BLAIN WON'T EVEN BE ABLE TO ACCOMPLISH THIS STUNT, AND IN THAT CASE, TARGET, WILL HAVE GARNERED A TON OF ADVERTISING THAT IT ESSENTIALLY GOT FOR FREE, BECAUSE IT DOESN'T HAVE TO FINANCE POORSKIES ON A SHOPPING TRIP!

Brilliant. Absolutely Brilliant. And I am not kidding. That is a Brilliant campaighn on Target's part (for unthinking people, anyway.)

Despite the fact that I shop there, and, when the store is well-maintained, LOVE IT, I am fully cognizant that it is the Devil. Because that plan is Evil.

I only hope they wait until Blain does the trick before they tell the "monetarily challenged" folk that they've been selected. Can you imagine if they didn't and these poor people are praying for this money? Oh god, how awful.

Okay, even if Target DOES give out the money to the people if Blain doesn't succeed (MERRY CHRISTMAS, ANYWAYS! LOVE, BENEVOLENT TARGET!), fitty' grand isn't a lot of money. (It ain't a lot of money for HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS OF DOLLARS WORTH OF ADVERTISING!) Hell, I make considerably more than that in a year. (Not to be impolite, but I don't consider myself wealthy, which is why I raised the point.) The fact that Target is giving out less than my annual salary for a major Christmas charity seems pretty piddly when you think about it. Yeah, it's charity and the people can use the money, and it is a good thing. But a Corporation like Target should really make it count. It has the deep pockets - especially given the millions of dollars in revenue and good will this will generate. After having overanalyzed the negative aspects of this, I may think a bit less of Target...actually... Even though they were damned if they did and damned if they didn't.


On another side note, Query this: If David Blain fails this experiment, will it be an even more strong draw to watch his future stunts? I argue yes. He started with easy stunts to raise awareness of him. But living in a box over the Thames? Not that hard. Being in a coffin for a while? Sort of a mind-fuck, probably sat in his own filth... still... manageable. And generated great publicity.

Now that he has our attention... he'll fail all the stunts. And we will ALL tune in to every one, because we think he's going to die an awful death on camera, and we absolutely cannot pass up the chance to see it (Don't lie, you know you'll watch.)

David didn't stay under water for the world's record. Some of us were hooked then, but many of us will become converts this time, because, how cool would it be to see someone get mangled and fall three stories on T.V. - it appeals to our instinct that caused us to gather around the tree at Tyburn to watch the condemned, "hang by the neck until [they were] dead."

I think his new M.O. should be to do stunts where he won't get killed, but can't do them, and fails all of them. I will absolutely watch something if I know someone is going down in flames.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Ha-ba-ja-ba-ja-ba-ba?!

I have suspected for some time that I've been slowing down. Today I got confirmation.

I think it's about time for me to lay off the five-fingered wiggity-wack. I'm developing that half-second delay that I had all through college. Also, in my spare time, I elect to sit on my couch, slack-jawed, or sit in front of my computer slack-jawed, staring at things.

"And why, pray tell," you ask, "have you had this epiphany this evening in particular?"

I'll tell you. Roll up a barrel to sit on. We'll have a barrel of fun.

Those of you who know me (and those of you who don't, have probably picked up on it through this blog) know that I'm not a patient man. I'm not a patient man, and I don't have a high level of tolerance for bullshit. I'm blunt. Sometimes it's good, "You've got a booger. Right there," and sometimes it's bad, "This movie sucks, wanna mess around?" But, by and large, unless I'm on good behavior, and I'm able to filter what I say, you're going to get what's in my mind, with little to no moderation.

"I'm so sad! My life sucks!" "Yeah, that's because you've been an idiot lately, so, you know, maybe you want to...change."

That's not to say that I charge around pointing out boogers in my friends' noses, and calling them idiots - I do have SOME decorum, but when I've met a new person and I'm feeling them out, I don't tend to have the same level of grace that I have around people I've known. Odd, right? You'd think it would be the opposite...

But I'm rambling. As usual.

I don't let people cut in front of me in lines. Old, young, rich, poor, wheelchair bound, and juggling eight puppies and triplet three-year olds. Fuck 'em. I was there first. If they're out in public, they don't deserve any special treatment, and my time is DOUBTLESS more valuable than most of the other people's in Miami. Everyone down here is retahded.

So, tonight, I decided I was going to stay in and go for a walk, and then make a Spanikopita. (The Spanikopita is a different blog for a different time. Phyllo dough, while manageable, is a fucking pain in the ass, and although it came out just fine, it's a hell of a lot of work for essentially the same effect I could achieve through pre-packaged puff pastry. ESPECIALLY on the bottom...) I was going to stay in so I didn't have a Trademarked Hangover on Saturday Morning. It was going to be a nice night. A nice walk in some nice weather, a nice Greek dish on which I can subsist until I go home for Thanksgiving...

So, I set out, paycheck burning a hole in my pocket, for deposit as I skipped along my merry way to the Bank, then on my walk, and then to my Pube-Licks.

I strolled up to my Bee'Vay and saw a Mercury Mountaineer idling in front of the bank machine with two typical Miami twats sitting inside.

"Oh, good," thinks I, "there's only one guy at the ATM, this'll be fast, and I can continue on to my walk. I really enjoy walking. Because I'm an old man now. Maybe I'll buy myself some prunes while I'm at Publix. Then I can eat them after my lunch of a bowl of tomato soup, and a cup of hot coffee. Then, I'll watch some Murder She Wrote, and take a nap, before sorting my pills, and remembering what it was like during the War..."

So, I sidle up to the Bank Machine. And behind me I hear, "Oh shit."

"HAH," I think to the Cunt in the tank behind me, "You'll be behind me."

Or... so I thought.

A diminutive little GablesMommy pops out of the Mountaineer, and comes up to me and says in her ghastly Miami accent, which, to me, speaks of poor breeding, laziness and almost ensures that whoever it's coming out of, is a complete asshole who would drop jaws with their utter rudeness a mere seventy miles to the North, "Um, I was in line before you, I was just waiting in my car, so I'm going to go ahead of you."

...

...

...

I stare at her, eyebrows raised, in a, "Are you fucking joking me, lady?!" expression. And yet I say nothing. I'm weighing the value of fighting with her and being like, "Tough shit, bitch. You snooze, you lose," versus being a nice person. Ordinarily, I'd go with the confontation. Fuck her. She can't sit in her car and be in line. Either you're in line or you're not. You're not in line in your car. You're in line when you're...

And the seconds are ticking by, and I'm noticing details in her that I could use in some insult to totally ruin her day... like her deeply lined saddle-bag face... I'm guessing she was in her early 30s, but she looked like she had grown up on a cattle ranch in Arizona. Leathery. And I'm thinking about how her thighs look fat in the True Religion Jeans she has stuffed them in. And I'm thinking about how ridiculous she looks in her shirt that has the same pattern as a shirt that I have hanging in my closet, but never wear, because I must have been on crack when I bought it, because it's so fucking ugly, I wouldn't want to be caught dead in it...

And I'm thinking that I'm either going to go with the fat-thighs comment, but probably the lined forehead comment would be a better way to go, because she can't hide it and it'll give her a complex, and hopefully make her cry, and totally ruin the rest of her night, and she'll just think about how I razzed on her wrinkly forehead and sun-damaged skin, and maybe she'll kill herself... and I really couldn't care less if she does, because clearly, she's a dumb cunt for making such a statement, and who the hell does she think she is, and if she had been nice about it, I wouldn't be thinking these things... because it's not in my nature to pick out flaws in a person unless I need it for ammunition...

And at this point, I've basically acquiesced, because I am so shocked at her brazen disregard for, oh, AMERICAN RULES OF BEING IN LINE, that I was struck dumb as a post.

My mind was churning a mile a minute, and yet, I couldn't settle on any one response. A simple, "No, you were in your car, I was here first," would have been firm, and polite, but adequately confrontational. If she had argued with me, I could have pulled out something like, "Okay, you must be late for your desperately needed Botox appointment, and if I were you, I wouldn't want to go another second looking as Clint-Eastwoody as you do, so go ahead, Saddlebags..." (Or something better) Or I could have been like, "Nah, I don't feel like staring at your fat ass stuffed into jeans that you're thirty years too old to wear..."

What did I come up with?! NOTHING. As I write this, there was a similar blog written recently on the same phenomenon... but... it was a, "Yeah, well, the Jerkstore called, and they're runnin' out of YOU!" moment.

And as the guy in front of me finished, she fucking edged up to the machine to make sure that I wasn't going to go ahead of her. ONCE AGAIN, I'm standing there, aghast at the chutzpah this farbisseneh had.

She went, and I stared at her ass, hating it. Hating the way one of the legs of her pants were cuffed too high. Hating most everything about her... but mostly hating myself.

Hating that I have smoked myself apathetic, and unable to snap back with a sharp retort and defend what was rightfully mine. That was MY forty-five seconds she stole. And it's the principle of the thing more than anything else. If she had ASKED, I would have said, "Go right ahead."

Hell, I STILL said "Go right ahead," but only because I was so thunderstruck at her assholism. If I was in sharper condition, she would have been staring at MY fat ass wedged into MY camoflauge shorts, as I deposited my checks... (not that she was wearing camoflauge shorts, but... ... SHUT UP, JERKSTORE.)

So... I need to get back into shape. I need my mind to be running in peak condition. Yes, I've been beating it up lately with the booze, and the pills, and the needles full of drugs (KIDDING!), but I think it's time to get back on my A-Game. What? My time isn't more valuable than her time? My time is infinately more valuable, than some slut's time who's just going to cruise up to Merrick Park and finger Stuart Weitzman shoes (do they still make those?)

And I would have finished my walk forty five seconds sooner, and it would have been a 110% more relaxing walk, if I had stood my ground and told that bitch that I'd fight her for the first position at the ATM.

G.A.M.E. O.N.