Gag Me With a Witherspoon - Can One Cannibal Convert a Sausage Stinking Litterbug?

While out and about on one of my office escapes earlier this afternoon, on foot with coffee and copy of Marvel Zombies (4 of 5) in hand, I found myself at the corner in front of a large pharmacy awaiting the light to change. A rotund man-beast with a small bag from said pharmacy took his place beside me on the sidewalk; his breathing was labored and smelled of spoiled sausage. He was unkempt but not “of the street” if you know what I mean. I winced a little at the smell sharing and stared out across the street at some lithe little creation making her way across the road on the opposite side like a corporate Gazelle, “mmm, nice boots”. For a nanosecond, the man is no longer a bother, his odor eaten away at the sight of this afternoon sprite. I notice that Mr. Fat is also training his eyes on our prancing princess as she sprung from heel to heel sidestepping hungry puddles in waiting (wading). She reached the other side of the road and threw a glance over her spry little shoulder at her two corner bound admirers; I avert my gaze as trained to avoid detection, throwing my eyes below me – no clue what Mr. Fat does with his eyes but I assume they follow her all the way like a getaway meatball on a linoleum floor. Amongst the pebbles I spy a receipt lying right beside my shoe, the name of the pharmacy clearly visible on the top half of the upturned slip. I reaffirm that the man is indeed carrying pharmacy bag from said chain and decide to make a valiant bend to retrieve the receipt for the overweight stranger. This man is obviously not a healthy dude, and what if he bought the wrong kind of medication to cure him of spoiled sausage breathe and Fatassiticis? What then?

Receipt in hand I offer it to him and say “excuse me; I think you may have dropped this”. Good deed of the day is done, and well before supper time, I can get on with asshole practice much sooner today! He swivels his oddly proportioned mug in my direction and says “its myine, butt I dydnt drop it on axident”. I stood with the receipt in outstretched hand and realized that I just picked up this man’s litter. I felt a little like an ass, but why should I? Is the world his fucking litter box? “I dawnt knead itt anymore”. “Oh” say I. He hummed and hawed a little and ungraciously took the receipt from me, putting me out of my misery, crumpled it up a little and placed it back in the bag. The light changed, “fuck this” I thought, and proceeded to cross the street leaving Mr. Fat Litterbug behind, as I reach the other side I glanced back and saw that he still had the bag in hand and quite possibly making his way towards a garbage can to do away with the receipt or just carry on to his portly pleasing destination. Doing my part for the environment, keeping the city clean – That’s ME! I may eat people, but I know the value of a clean street corner.

The following is a public service announcement from your local broadcaster. “Hi kids, I’m the Urban Cannibal, reminding you to put trash in its place.”

I finished up with the cretins at the bank and made may way back out on the street, there’s the trash can. I consider looking inside its open maw to see if man-beast followed through with his garbage quest, but no, I’ll take his “wurd” for it and carry on, surely he saw the error of his ways.

Sure enough, on the next block I see a bag from local pharmacy on the side of the road; that same slightly crumbled receipt still stuck inside. He had removed his purchase from the bag and just left the whole mess right there on the street, what a savage. Faith in humanity extinguished once more, I pick up the bag and throw it out. Mother Nature bent me over twice today.

Speaking of trash, if Reese Witherspoon wins an Academy Award this Sunday, I believe we should all translate such an event as the first sign of the apocalypse. The Pig and I went to see director Kevin (Silent Bob) Smith a few weeks back on his entertaining but otherwise disengaging speaking tour and learned that my suspicions were indeed correct about the Legally Blonde bitch, Witherspoon is actually a super moose. He calls her Greasy Reezy Witherspoon (or something like that) and told us tales of how she’s such an incorrigible cow that she lords over people like Tim Curry at a transvestite convention. I always thought that there was something shifty about that broad. If she wins the little golden man, she'll likely use it as a dildo, the only positive I can put on this is that if she wins her career will likely fall off the rails like it has for so many before her.

For crapsakes woman, brush your teeth! Your puppy pulping chompers are the same color as your hair!

iPod played “Lynyrd Skynyrd – Sweet Home Alabama” while posting