Kosher Soda: The New Thing

Because I work at a super market, I would like to mention that over the past week there has been a great demand for kosher soda. I assumed people would be buying kosher products for Passover, but that’s actually not the case. People who aren’t even Jewish are demanding kosher soda like there is no tomorrow. I really don’t understand…it’s weird because we’ve never sold kosher soda, unfortunately. And yet, people continously ask me “Oh man, do you guys have that kosher soda? Like the one with the yellow lid? Dude, I like need it…NOW!” I’ve resorted to quietly running away before the customer resorts to chasing me, but I can’t keep this up much longer. What is this kosher soda everyone is talking about?! I certainly want to try it. Is this like the new drug on the street? Why wasn’t I informed!?

Three cases today that can pretty much explain how popular this soda really is.

1. A guy walks up to me right when I come into work. He’s seriously sweating bullets, looking left to right, under and behind him. The coast is clear; he finally lets me know what’s on his mind. “Kosher…soda…need…”Suddenly, he passes out. The ambulance arrives. He was never seen again (well, I never saw him again.)

2. An old lady approaches me as I’m cleaning the floor. She looks furious; what on earth is making this lady so mad? Without missing a beat the lady storms right up to me, holding a grape soda and puts it right in front of my face, exclaiming, “Dammit! Are you kidding me!? This was in the kosher aisle, but it’s not kosher!!! Where is the kosher soda!? I want the kosher soda!!!” She begins knocking random items off the shelves and goes on a rampage through every aisle of the store. Eventually, the manager calls the authorities and the police arrive, taking her away and the grape soda as evidence.

3. A crazy twitching guy is hanging around the super market, acting suspicious and constantly looking through the window. Finally, he walks in and quietly follows me. Assuming the man needed help with something, I turn around to ask what he needed. But suddenly, he grabbed me by the wrist and twisted my arm around my back. He pulls out a gun and yells “Stay down!!” Everyone is frightened and crouches low on the ground, screaming. The man doesn’t hesitate: “Where is the kosher soda with the yellow cap? I want a full box of it right here!” He motions a cashier to go to the back and get a box full of kosher soda. Confused and frightened, the cashier begins to cry and runs to the back quickly. The man tells me not to try anything funny, but I didn’t spare a moment. In less than a second, and quickly turn around and wack the gun out of his hand. He lets go of my wrist to grap it, but I quickly kick him in the gut and grab the firearm. Two other guys tackle him to the ground and knock him unconscious. We call the authorities again, and the police show up to the scene in less than a minute. The man is arrested and taken to prison. The day resumes as if nothing ever happened.

I’m actually interested to find out what this soda is, because people have been constantly bugging me. For some reason no one remembers the name of the damn drink, and no name means no help. If anyone drinks kosher soda like daily or something, send me a message so I can finally know what the hell it’s called. Oh, and hit me up with a “place” where I can get this stuff. I may start selling it for some cold hard cash. Or even better, smuggle it to my homies in Mexico! They won’t believe what’s all the rage. Perhaps this is finally the solution to our drug problem (not really).

Scary Mary

I found a cool video on youtube that completely distorts the friendly character, Mary Poppins. Now I can never see this movie the same way ever again. This is probably the best example of how something so sweet and joyous can easily be altered into something dark and horrifying.

Current Issue: Bird Poop

I can’t take it anymore! Everytime I wash my freakin’ car, a bird has to poop on it. I’ve tried everything but it seems that bird poop is inevitable. How does one prevent their car from being shat on? Do I have to constantly keep a gun in my car and shoot these birds when I notice the “attack position”? It is a truth of life, people: no one can avoid their car being hit by bird feces, no matter how hard they try. Getting a new car is like buying a toilet…for demons.

Why must we suffer so? When we walk towards our car from distance, noticing the little white glimmer on the window. “Oh God, that can’t be…” Yes, it is poop indeed. And a big smelly splatter of it. I’ve decided that I can’t continue driving if I know my car will be pooped on. Not only does it make a mess, but it is violating my privacy and personal emotions. I mean, how would you feel if you found out someone pooped on your car? How would you feel if that same person pooped on your car again, but with feathers and wings? Yeah, pretty gross.

Birds are domestic terrorists, and their poop is a threat! How so? Think about it…you’re driving to an important meeting at work. Everything seems to be going pretty well. You have the possibility of being promoted, and even getting a free donut! Plus, it’s a Friday. Time to wrap up the day for the weekend, right!? Yeah, life is pretty good. When all of a sudden, a big splatter of poop lands on your windshield. Suddenly, you constantly move the wheel back and forth, driving towards an unknown disaster. You are blinded; you have no knowledge of what could be in front of you. Could there be another car? How about a hobo? Or a giraffe!? The possibilities are endless.

The point is, birds ruin weekends. It sucks driving around knowing people are looking at your car because you have two poop stains right on your windshield. Some people point, others usually laugh…I hate it. I hate birds and their desire to crap wherever they please. This is an outrage! The time has come to create a solution for this problem. Should we at least invest money into pooping stations for birds? No that wouldn’t do it. How about…killing all the birds? Mwuhaha. It’s brilliant! If all goes to plan, no one will worry about their cars being pooped on ever again!

Well, I don’t know if anyone else cares. But I sure do.

Working At A Supermarket

I recently got a job at a nearby supermarket and to tell you the truth, they actually pay pretty well. It’s just the little things about working at a supermarket that bug me. I had no idea that these little details I usually ignored were such a big deal to me when I would start working. This has been my first week, and I am already experiencing hell with certain people and situations. I’d like to go over a few things that have been bothering me (and probably anyone else who works at a supermarket) since the day I started.

Personal Grocery Bags

Where in the hell do people get their own grocery bags? Don’t people think that plastic or paper bags are good enough? No, apparentely not. Amazingly, people spend their money on personal foldable bags for groceries. But this isn’t Europe. We don’t just bring our own bags from home, and put crap from the super market in them so we can take them back home the way we want to. Here in the United States, you get the traditional plastic bags, dammit. Oh, and by the way…to everyone who has their own grocery bags, they aren’t big enough to hold everything! They just take up space, and make bagging a living hell. So thanks.

Paper, not Plastic.

Bullshit. I can understand paper for holding maybe a lot of bottled waters, or a case of wines, or valuable glass items…but not everything. Why do people have to be such assholes, and demand that all their groceries be bagged in paper only? Yeah, this toothpaste, deodorant, shaving cream and mouthwash couldn’t fit in plastic? You are so full of it. Plastic is simple. It’s easy to bag with, and its easy to throw away. Putting your groceries away is not that hard when it comes to plastic. Paper, on the other hand, forces the courtesy clerk to smash at least one item. So stop complaining, because I told you so. Paper takes up too much space. And you wonder why your cart is so heavy. Plastic wins, paper loses. Shut up. And when I don’t offer to bag in paper, people still whine about it and say “Oh, hey there young man! I think I asked for paper! Re-bag these, please.” My response: “Kill yourself.” But only in my head.

Pre-opened groceries.

I didn’t think there were people dumb enough to open their groceries to eat before they were paid for, but most of the time, the occasional I-was-hungry-so-I-opened-it person comes up to the register. And then…they hand me their half-eaten apple to bag. ”What the hell is this?” I ask politely. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Its just that, I’ve been working all day, and I really needed to eat, and I’m going to pay for it so its okay!” No, it is not okay. But I have to pretend like it is so I get paid, remember? Have a nice day, idiot.

Carts

A common task of the courtesy clerk is to go outside and gather the carts together so you can put them back in the original location. Usually, this isn’t much of a problem for me because God forbid that anyone would actually take a cart and place it a mile away from the super market. But of course, this world is not perfect. Stupid non-educated kids often take carts and race them all the way to the end of the parking lot. The dumbest part about doing carts is that once you put them back, you turn around to find…more carts in your parking lot. It never ends at a super market. No matter how hard you try, there will always be carts all over the place.

There are two problems with carts. The first problem is where people leave them. Every supermarket has the little spot where it says Leave your carts here, please. But people always ignore it and put their carts upside down in the middle of the street. Yeah, that’s totally necessary. Just wait until I find out who you are, because the next time you stop by I’m throwing carts at your car. The second problem with carts is the crap people leave in them. One time I found a cart covered in vomit. To whoever you were who did that, thanks. I owe you one.

Anyways, first impressions at the supermarket aren’t so good, and I’ll probably quit before anyone can even notice. But in the time being, I think I’ll have fun with my job and give people a living hell. Who would have thought that going to a grocery store would be so hard? For some people, it is. As a courtest clerk, I will do everything I can to help the people…but I won’t take crap from anyone…or a half-eaten apple.

Short Story Ideas!

Hey fellow bloggers and readers, hope your lives are going well. I’m in quite a jam here, now that Spring Break is finally over and I have quite a load of work to do. I recently got accepted to my first choice university, and I have been given the opportunity for a scholarship in a Creative Writing major. All I have to do is write a 10-page limited short story in prose fiction, or submit a chapter of a novel I’ve written.

Considering I have never written a novel, I thought I would go along with the short story. But now I’m so busy that its really hard for me to decide what I should write about. Any suggestions? Please feel free to leave your ideas through comments, or you can email me at klara92090@aol.com Best idea gets…a pat on the back, haha. I don’t know…I’ll thank of something. I have a lot of bloggers to thank for inspiring me to write. Hopefully everything will go well.

Thanks a lot, everyone!

Loco

Parties, and why I hate them.

Everyone always tells me I’m dumb because I miss out on parties. Well those people are stupid. I know it may sound like I don’t have any friends, or I spend too much time in the house or something…but parties aren’t my thing. I just can’t see how going to someone’s house to drink and act like an idiot is any fun. I could probably see some humor in seeing friends getting so trashed, they can’t walk straight and end up falling in a pool. But when someone gets incredibly drunk and ends up puking all over me, we have a problem.

So parties were never really entertaining to me. I’m still in high school, and parties happen pretty much every weekend. I’ve only gone to a few, but those will probably be my only parties. Oh, I sure hope you people know what I mean by parties…

This is a typical high school party. (Sort of) People get together at someone’s house, because their parents are out of town, or just straight up don’t care. Then, someone goes and get a crapload of alcohol, and invites all their idiot friends so they can look cool and get wasted. That’s a pretty good description of a high school party, I would say.

High school parties are fun probably because of the following reasons:

• alcohol
• girls
• friends
• fights
• popularity

Who doesn’t like alcohol? It’s the happy potion for anything. So I guess this is a pretty reasonable explanation to why parties are fun. Especially during high school, considering that no one is supposed to drink alcohol yet. But who cares.

Girls are a great reason…at least for the guys and lesbians. Dudes for the girls, vice versa…

Spending the night with your friends is awesome! Especially with alcohol, because you can really see how stupid your friend really is, or get to know their deepest secrets.

If you hate someone whose going to the same party you are, I think you have the right to kick their ass.

And showing up to parties probably makes you a social person.

So what is there to hate about parties? Here are some reasons:

• Idiots
• Getting caught
• Police
• Drama
• Hangover
• Getting “too drunk”
• Finding a ride/place to stay.

First of all, I can’t stand the kind of people who go to parties. They’re mostly the stupid dumbass kids who can’t even read, yet go to high school so they can have sex or find someone who sells drugs. These are your typical party goers. They love to party. And loving to party and means love getting drunk and acting like a total douchebag. I call these people “idiots”. Idiots typically try and look popular as much as possible, by trying to show off how much alcohol they can handle or how high they can get. Yes, being absolutely wasted to the point where you don’t know who you are is cool apparently. I love my country. These people waste the air we breath, and they deserve to die.

Getting caught is probably the weirdest moment of your life. There are a few ways you get caught going to a party. One way is coming back home, and having your parents inspect you like inspector gadget because they smell alcohol. And then they start crying and say how disappointed they really are. But deep down inside, they secretly plan to murder you in your sleep, even though they said they still loved you. That’s bullshit. Another way is having some stupid friend of yours take pictures or videos of you doing crazy shit at a party, and then having everyone see how gay you are. Finally, you are way to drunk, and decide to call everyone and tell them how drunk you are. What a shame that you called your aunt and told her to get naked. How dumb are you?

The police showing up to a party = all hell breaks loose. Once someone hears a siren or sees flashing lights, the party immediately ends and it becomes a game of cat and mouse. In less than a second, you have around 100 stupid idiots running around, trying to hide or getting a ride out of the area. But police don’t take shit from no one. Yeah, they’ll catch a few people, and get their names written down and everything. That is never good.

Another big problem about parties is drama. Who in the hell started this shit? Someone goes to a party, has a good time and…WOAH. What the hell…is she wearing the same thing I’m wearing? Or is this person talking to my ex? Oh man, I’m so gay that I have to start shit. This is where fights start. Ever gone to a party, walk around and see one side of the party all relaxed and having a good time? And then you walk to the other side, and everyone is watching these two idiots complain about what they can and can’t do? Yeah, I love it. Seeing people complain is the whole reason why I came over to this person’s house in the first place. People like these deserve to drown.

I’m sure everyone who drinks agrees on this problem…hangovers. Oh shit…you wake up the next morning, and damn you feel like utter poop. And then you realize you have to host a meeting at the local church! Man, how stupid are you? Yup, pretty freakin’ stupid. Hangovers are the ultimate ache. It is nature’s way of saying “Your not supposed to drink that much because you’re weak and have no talents.” What a shame. Don’t drink what you can’t handle. Maybe you won’t have this problem.

People who get way to drunk is the other problem. I see no fun in going somewhere where an incredibly drunk person follows you everywhere, crying because they think you hate them. And for the record…yes, I do hate you. Drunk people are funny. But very drunk people are just annoying and stupid. The worst part is seeing someone puke. I think its just nasty. Thanks for puking all over me, idiot. I’m going to kill you now. Very drunk people ruin parties because all they do is beg for skittles and fig newtons, when what they really need is a huge bitchslap. They make annoying noises and waste time. But the fun of very drunk people is telling them to do dangerous things. It’s great seeing someone suffer the consequences of eating a battery, just because you told them to.

Finally, the hassle of finding a place to stay is just too much work for me. I don’t feel like sleeping over at someone’s house…just to sleep over. That’s pretty boring. And then wake up to find yourself naked in someone else’s living room is just a weird moment. Giving rides to other people is completely useless, too. All these people are doing is puking all over your car, your house and your pets, and then sleep in your bathroom. Leave them in the streets. It’s not worth your time, watching 5-year-old dumbasses cry in their sleep.

These are just a couple reasons as to why parties are stupid, and why I hate them. If you like parties, I have nothing against you. Just don’t be such an idiot about it.

Mystery of the Easter Bunny

Well Happy Easter everyone! Just want to wish all the readers a happy day today. Hopefully everyone can find their own easter eggs. Whether there be chocolate or money within, just remember that our weird tradition is symbolic for…wait a minute. Why do we get eggs again? Oh that’s right! Because the Easter Bunny goes around and hides them. 

I still don’t understand how the hell we got a bunny to represent the Easter holiday. The biggest mystery, of course, is the belief of the Easter Bunny hiding eggs. Why would a bunny take the time to hide eggs? Don’t bunnies occupy their time eating carrots, and pooping everywhere? I’d rather have the Easter tradition be finding hidden poop balls everywhere, than such colorful eggs. Such traditions like these are the reason why our children today because pot smokers tomorrow.

And speaking of pot smoking, this is probably the true origin of the Easter Bunny. Maybe just a whole bunch of hippy Catholics got together, remembered that on this day Jesus resurrected, and took a big puff of weed to remember the Lord. Although many people would probably say this has nothing to do with the tradition, it can easily explain the bizarre story of the Easter Bunny. One vision of a bunny going around hiding magical colors has become the national view of our colorful Sundays. Thanks, pot smokers.

Well whatever the case may be, the Easter Bunny is no friendly fellow. Although he may give little kids candy and gifts, he is most likely a child molester. Yes, I am afraid to admit the truth, but this is the real identity of our beloved fluffy gift giver. How can you explain his appearance? He looks so nice, and gives free stuff with an abundance of color. Screw you Easter Bunny. You’re not getting your hands on me!

Happy Easter, I guess.

Return to the Hair Salon

If you recall my older post about my trip to the Hair Salon some months ago, then you can probably remember how interesting the conversation with my barber was. Well, it wasn’t anything particularly special. But it was entertaining…for me. I don’t think that lady liked me as much. I recently returned to that hair salon again for another haircut. Luckily, I was able to get this lady’s assistance again. And this time, I managed to get her name. Now I am able to torment her for the rest of my life. Or at least, for however long she can manage to work there/put up with my crap.

*Sit down in the seat*

Me: Why hello there.
Christine: Hi, how do you want me to cut your hair?
Me: Yes.
Christine: What?
Me: Huh?
Christine: How do you want me to cut your hair…do you want it short, long, a trim?
Me: Do you remember me?
Christine: Um, I don’t know. Remind me how you know me?
Me: You cut my hair once.
Christine: Oh, but I cut so many people’s hair. I’m sorry, I just don’t recall who you are.
Me: Oh that’s weird. Because last time you gave me a haircut you also gave me your number.
Christine: What?
Me: Don’t worry about it, babycakes. I just want a trim.
Christine: What did you just call me!?
Me: Chop chop, miss.

*5 Minutes Later*

Me: You’re awefully quiet.
Christine: Because I really don’t feel like talking to you.
Me: Remember the time we talked about how you went to hair school because you couldn’t afford a real university…
Christine: Wait a minute…you!
Me: Hey, you remember me.
Christine: You’re a little brat, you know.
Me: And your a barber. I am superior.
Christine: Whatever, loser.
Me: You can’t say that to me. I can refuse to give you a tip.
Christine: Not like I need it.
Me: Oh, but how will you support your illegal parents and children?
Christine: What the hell are you talking about?
Me: About you sneaking into the country.
Christine: I’m not even Mexican.
Me: What the hell!? Since when did I say you were a Mexican? Pardon me, but I’m Mexican. I am so offended…
Christine: Sure you are…
Me: My heritage…it means nothing now.

*3 Minutes Later*

Me: So do you like basketball?
Christine: Sure.
Me: Are you watching March Madness?
Christine: I am actually.
Me: Who is your favorite team.
Christine: Duke University.
Me: HAHAHAHA.
Christine: What’s so funny about that!?
Me: Oh nothing. It’s just that…
Christine: Well, just what?
Me: I know a mentally ill kid that likes Duke.
Christine: And so, what the hell is so funny about that?
Me: You reminded me of her. How ironic. You two are so alike.

*Stops cutting hair*

Chrisitine: I want you to leave, right now!
Me: Well, why? What did I do?
Christine: You are being abnoxious and mean. SO LEAVE.
Me: No, its okay. Because if you don’t finish cutting my hair, I can report you to your boss and have you fired. And then you won’t be able to support that Mexican family of yours.
Christine: Little asshole…
Me: What was that?
Christine: Nothing.

*4 Minutes Later*

Me: So who are your Final Four picks?
Christine: …
Me: So who is your Final Four?
Christine: …
Me: SO WHO IS YOUR FINAL FOUR?
Christine: I don’t have a Final Four!
Me: Why not? That’s boring if you don’t have a favorite top four teams.
Christine: Not like it matters.
Me: Yes it does.
Christine: Oh, and why is that?
Me: Because than you can’t call yourself a mentally ill kid who likes only Duke.
Christine: Grr…
Me: Are you mad at me?
Christine: I extremly dislike you.
Me: You hate me.
Christine: Perhaps.
Me: That’s a very strong word, though.
Christine: Okay.
Me: My Final Four is Louisville, Georgetown, UCLA and Texas.
Christine: Good for you.
Me: My Final Four is better than yours. That makes me perfect.
Christine: Yeah, right.
Me: Yup.

*2 Mnutes Later*

Christine: Ok, I’m done. Thank you, please leave.
Me: No.
Christine: I said leave, I cut your hair the way you wanted it.
Me: Ok.
Christine: So…get out of the seat and leave.
Me: I like it here. I think I’ll stay.
Christine: LEAVE DAMMIT!
Me: Oh God, my virgin ears…
Christine: Shut up! You know you’ve heard that word before! Stop being so immature and leave!
Me: Well ok. But only because you helped me out.
Christine: Yeah, whatever.
Me: Oh, here’s something special for you.

*Hand a lollipop to her*

Christine: What the hell is this?
Me: Your tip. You had an attitude, so you don’t get money.
Christine: Whatever…
Me: That makes me perfect.
Christine: GET OUT OF HERE!

I think I made her sort of upset, considering she left immediately. But I think we’ve made a friendly bonding with our time together. I like being able to talk to people that work with me. It is a somewhat sort of special interaction, a different kind of friendship. I think she sees that, too.

Loco

Picture of the Now

 Looks like the Hoff celebrated a little too early again…

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!!!

Creator of Spaghetti O’s Dies

Kurt Eberling, creator of the revolutionary and delicious Spaghetti O’s, died today at the age of 77.

I didn’t even know this guy, but who cares. What really matters is what he was responsible for. And that, my friends, is the source of all happiness: Spaghetti O’s.

Spaghetti O’s has affected all of our lives one way or another. And if you’ve never tried Spaghetti O’s in your life, to hell with you! Get off your ass and go buy a can right now! (2 bucks for 3 cans actually :D)

Who could forget the awesome Spaghetti O’s commercials? The one where all the O’s are dancing in the lake of tomato sauce? Or how about the one where the O’s are having a special Ooooo’stock? Which, by the way, included Jimi Hendrix and The Whooooo’s…good times. That was good ‘ol Kurt producing that magic. Kurt was the god of canned food. He knew what we wanted. Why? Because he was a freakin’ genius.

Although Kurt died, his legacy will live on forever. Spaghetti O’s has made such an influence in young children’s lives to this day. Even now, I still buy Spaghetti O’s. As a matter of fact, I buy 5 cans of Spaghetti O’s a day! The day is just simply not complete without my daily dose of Spaghetti O’s.

How do you get someone to do that? Do you simply put drugs in the recipe? Well maybe…but that’s not the point. It’s the taste that makes little kids smear crap all over the wall…it just makes people feel complete. That takes a lot, Kurt.

Rest in peace, buddy. I’m sure everyone will indeed miss you. (Well, a few people at the least) But the taste you have created lives on forever. Long live Spaghetti O’s!

Here’s a can of Spaghetti O’s to you, Kurt. It was nice knowing ya, buddy. *cheers*

Loco