2013/07/29

Bear 21... The Story of a Man and Her Umbrella

BEAR 21... The Story of a Man and Her Umbrella

Section 1: The First 6 Days of Terror
Section 2: In One Day Your Whole Life Can Change
Section 3: Dangerous Love
Section 4: The Tragic Demise of Some Loser
Section 5: This Life Already Happened*
Section 6: Prophecy 14
Section 7: The Present That Already Happened Holds Enormous Implications for a Future That Might Not Exist
Section 8: The Yellow Pearl is Upon Us Now, We Must Fight Back





SECTION I: THE FIRST SIX DAYS OF TERROR





PROLOGUE:  Plagued with the premonition that I was going to die in 3 weeks by means of being eaten by a bear while walking home from work, these are the events that unfolded leading up to my tragic death. 


(6/8 2013)  Day 1: The Death of Batman

It was upon leaving Will and Cameron's house when I first encountered the bear. I was unsure as to which direction I needed to walk, and merely stood in the middle of the road looking awkwardly stupid. A woman was standing in her yard across the street and I assumed that she suspected that I was some creepy stalker who happened to be standing in the middle of the road at 3:00 in the morning. After a few moments passed, I developed the nerve to ask her directions to Coleman Street and she kindly told me.

As I was walking away, her dog started barking and I heard all sorts of chaos pursuing me. I turned around and saw the barking dog racing towards me, with the kind woman chasing after it, "Batman! Batman," she shouted. "Get back here! God damn dog!" It's odd how some people resort to belittling their pets by identifying its' species in a condescending manner. 

Batman looked vicious while running after me, and I remained a bit frightened even after the woman hollered to me, "don't mind her, she's friendly. She doesn't bite that often."

'That often' didn't seem like too assuring of odds as I was positive that Batman the Goddamn dog was going to attack me with the fury of her powerful jaws and razor-sharp teeth, and inflict a wound that would surely require stitches and another rabies vaccination.

But from out of nowhere, the bear appeared. It did not attack me though, it ate the dog instead. Poor Batman.




(6/9 2013) Day 2: Umbrella… The $5 Stick of Death

It was raining heavily when I finally left work and I was in no mood to walk home in a downpour. Once again, I had to sacrifice my moral values and enter Wal Mart in order to purchase an umbrella. As I was making my selection, the image of the bear returned to my head, and that would ultimately factor in my selection of an umbrella. Somehow, I knew I would once again encounter this bear and Swannanoa River Road seemed the appropriate meeting place. Therefore, the umbrella also had to serve as a defense mechanism should the bear decide to attack me. 

I was uncertain as to which model would be best suited between the folding retractable kind or the stick umbrella. In the event of being swallowed whole, I could open the folding umbrella and bore my way out of the bear's stomach; should we encounter one-on-one hand-to-hand combat, the stick umbrella might work better. Being as I work at Bowls Department Store and am faced with a limited budget, I went with the stick umbrella because it was cheaper.

As I descended into the pit of darkness known as Swannanoa River Road, "Over and Over" by the MC5 randomly played on my headphones. I declared that this would be as good of a song as any to meet my death.

A voice in my head had repeatedly told me, "Bowls Department Store is going to kill you!" And another voice constantly countered with "You can't be afraid to die."

The street grew even darker and I searched for the bear. Clutching the stick umbrella gave me a rejuvenated feeling of immortality and I felt indestructible... this umbrella could protect me against anything.Should I be swallowed whole with the stick umbrella and not be able to open it to escape from the bear's stomach, I could still credit Bowls Department Store as the cause of my death.

However, I was soon faced with another recurring voice in my head asking yet another series of questions:


"Could I have saved that God damn dog?" 
"Was I the cause of Batman's death?"

That's when I knew that the umbrella meant something more than a mere shelter from the rain. It was up to me to avenge Batman's injustice.





(6/10 2013) Day 3: What Brown Did for Candi

Even though it wasn't raining, I still walked the dark streets clutching my powerful stick umbrella that I had paid $5 for at Wal Mart the previous day. I assumed that the bear knew better than to try and fuck with me because he/she/it/whatever knew the stick umbrella held mystical powers. My menacing image with this new $5 stick umbrella redefined the meaning of Intimidation Factor, and thus, and new urban legend was born.

Suddenly, I saw two 
glowing eyes approaching me in the dark. I reared back the stick umbrella prepared to strike. As I swung with all of my might, I was forced to stop abruptly. It wasn't thr bear at all, it was a prostitute, and I nearly beat her in the face with the deadly umbrella.

She told me that her name was Candi, and offered to have sex with me in the woods for a mere $5. 



"I work at Bowls Department Store, I can't afford to fuck you."

However, I contemplated returning the powerful stick umbrella to Wal Mart for a refund so that Candi and I could become more acquainted. Furthermore, should I contract a deadly STD Virus; I could still credit Bowls Department Store as the cause of my death.

My voice of reason urged me to resist this temptation. I had already been the cause of Batman's death and the last thing I needed was another dead hooker on my already guilty conscience.

I kindly rejected her even further discounted offer of $3 in which she claimed I could just pay her on Friday, and I told her that I was preparing myself to be attacked by a bear. She looked at me as if I were crazy, which is no different than how everybody else looks at me without even mentioning a bear attack. The prophecies contained in the Next Testament warned me that Candi was in great danger being in my presence, and I tried to ward her off by threatening to strike her with the $5 stick umbrella. However, she was not afraid of me or my umbrella. In fact, she somehow snatched the umbrella out of my grasp and angrily tossed it in the woods. My skills obviously needed some serious refinement. 


I grabbed the umbrella out of the woods and ran. Candi chased after me, but was plowed down in the middle of the street by a UPS delivery truck. Generally these delivery trucks do not run this late, which raised a lot of questions about the packages contained within, if any at all.





(6/11 2013) Day 4: Bloodstains in an Empty Bed

I awoke to find Candi lying next to me on my lovely floor. Her cold inanimate eyes perfectly complimented her severely mutilated face. Due to the fact that I worked at Bowls Department Store for low pay, I did not want her blood spilling on my blanket for I could not afford to buy another one at this time. For that matter, I couldn't even afford to do laundry until next week.

Fortunately, she was dead… according to scientific logic; she would not be walking around my room tracking blood onto the piles of laundry lying on the floor. In my opinion, these clothes were not really THAT dirty, although the length of time in which they could be worn without creating a global repugnant stench was rapidly diminishing.

Then it occurred to me that should this dead hooker currently lying in my bedroom start decomposing, it would stink up all of my clothes and I would have to go to work smelling like Rigor Mortis. That is, unless some kind soul would be willing to lend me $2.00 in quarters so that I may go to the laundry mat. However, I do not ever ask people for anything, and I was in no mood to resort to bumming change from neighbors on the account my clothes mysteriously smelled like some dead bitch from the lower East Side; nor was I willing to explain that this was considered an emergency because if blood isn’t washed quickly, it could potentially leave stains. (You just have to trust me on this one, I know this to be a fact from multiple past experiences.) Although my nickname on the streets used to be “Tony the Snaggletoothed Butcher,” my current occupation viewed blood stains and cadaver scent as a violation of the dress code policy.

What a mess my room was! I was ashamed to be living like this. One, I did not even have a bed and was sleeping on the floor. Two, I could never close the deal on a substantial hanger purchase and all my clothes were haphazardly strewn across the floor. In fact, I had no furniture whatsoever, and all my limited belongings were simply scattered on the floor in random indecorous places. To make matters worse, there was now a dead hooker lying in my bedroom. I suppose that I could have sprayed her down with some Fabreeze; at least then I could boast owning at least one article of decent furniture—the all new Dead Hooker Futon.

“Funny, I do not recall bringing this hooker home with me.” 

I attempted to decipher all of last night’s occurrences, and distinctly remember this woman being plowed down by a motorized vehicle. There was no way that I brought her home because I hastily fled the scene shortly after she was flattened in the middle of the street. Furthermore, I was still in mourning grieving the death of Batman… time did not allow me to give even the remotest slightest shit about her. The only way that she even factored on my radar was the presumption that I could possibly get laid for a mere $5 and even exercise the 7 days same as cash option.

She suddenly sat upright and stared at me coldly. Her evil glare appeared more menacing in conjunction with the fresh blood oozing down the side of her face as she strategically stalked me with the same intensity a Lutheran confronts a burning Bible. Just as she reached striking distance, Candi expanded her arms, drew her claws, and roared loudly like a ravenous bear that had just witnessed her cubs being ambushed by a fleet of reckless Lutherans attempting to extinguish a Bible fire in the blazing forest. 

I was cornered in my own room about to be pulverized by a ferocious dead hooker growling at me with the same loud intensity as the North Carolina black bear that slaughtered Batman. Even worse, she was tracking blood all over the God damn floor and the last thing I needed was to be walking around town again wearing blood soaked clothes.

Although her presence was ghastly terrifying, part of me was overjoyed to finally have a girl visiting my house. Had I have known that she was going to come back to life, I would have put forth some effort to clean up around here. My primary concern was hoping that she was still offering the $3 discounted rate and if she was still willing to defer payment until Friday.

Just as I was deciphering the proper words to request she shower beforehand and clean all of that God damn blood off of her—and shut the fuck up already and stop roaring like a God damn bear, Candi disappeared without a trace. There was no evidence that she had ever even been there… no blood on the floor, no nothing. And just like that, the amount of girls I have had in my current bedroom remained at zero. “Oh well,” I thought out loud in a state of melancholy, “I’ve only been here a little over a month, I’m sure somebody will eventually become desperate enough to visit—and maybe even a girl who hadn’t recently been mowed down by a UPS truck.”

It occurred to me that my premonition of death by means of a bear attack might be inaccurate. Ever since I was a child, I had recurring dreams that I was going to be shot and killed on August 21, 2012 by a woman intending to kill some other asshole. That premonition never unveiled and there was no way that I was going to bank my death on that ever again. The manifestation of Candi resuscitated that foreboding omen that once plagued me. Gunshots will signify the waning moments of my death; shortly after witnessing a distressed woman plugging five bullets in the back of some douchy mother fucker’s head, I shall promptly be devoured by a bear.

I was stricken with the temptation to delve into erotic fantasies pertaining to the love affair that could have blossomed had Candi not vanished into thin air. These are the moments in which the structure of my own hand takes precedent as the most beautiful creation on the planet Earth. Unfortunately, I had to resist this temptation because I had to go to work; work was imperative because I had been saving up to buy some hangers (suggested retail price at Wal Mart--$1.16).

To make matters worse, I am a cursed masturbator. Anytime I jack off thinking about a woman, the fantasy will never come true. Furthermore, in many instances, I will never see the subject of masturbation fantasy ever again. I had accidentally jerked it to a couple of decent looking girls who worked at Bowls Department Store, and they consequentially quit within the week and were never seen or heard from again.

Being the optimist that I am, I attempted to utilize this curse and transform it into a blessing. Therefore, I try to dedicate a few hours of each night masturbating to Bowls Department Store customers who had pissed me off earlier in the day. 

This was extremely bothersome at first because I found it unhealthy to engage in sexual fantasies involving unfuckable old hags. I could not even fathom any notion whatsoever to begin this sexual excursion and deemed this particular means of ridding the store of cantankerous old people as an impossible failed experiment. The morose bastards will temporarily have to remain until I can devise an old people repellent that can be sprayed along the corridors and entryways, carefully ensuring that all the cracks within the walls and floors are generously covered..

Most of my masturbating material now involves relatively decent looking women—ones considered at least moderately fuckable, who have entered the store with their God damn kids and trashed the fucking place. However, this proved to be somewhat of a dilemma as well because many of these moms were genuinely beautiful, wore extremely revealing clothing, and I have thought of numerous situations in which they may become lonely and actually wish to receive the services of some piece of shit like me. Many of them are exhibitionists and I have witnessed prolonged exposures that have aroused the mind for weeks.

But Candi had already disappeared and I was never given the opportunity. This could have meant a number of things. Even if I just think about jacking off to a girl, she will disappear into some unknown crypt of the next universe that is currently being erected in Stellar 14 outside the motophixxesient terrain where even a poster nailed to a telephone pole will never find her.

Due to the inadequate conditions of my so-called wretched life, my choices were direly limited while deciding what to wear to work. My options were restricted to whatever clothes smelled the cleanest rather than what styles I felt would suit me best. I gathered an ample selection of clothes out of the pile, while carefully sniffing each sock to determine if it could be worn again. 

Coincidentally, just as I took a deep whiff of the worst smelling sock I had ever held in my possession, I heard the roar of the bear outside my window. It startled me and I glanced outside to see where it had came from, but there was no sign of the bear anywhere. I quickly assumed that maybe the bear was actually my savior, saved me from a vicious dog, saved me from a deadly venereal disease, and now expressed his disapproval for this dirty sock. Just as an experiment in this matter, I actually placed the sock over my foot, but this time it was completely silent.

… And it remained completely silent the entire 5.4 mile walk home with my umbrella. I assumed this was the case anyhow because I had made such an excellent playlist that consumed all of my dreadful thoughts regarding bears that feast on dogs named Batman. This was a great feeling for it allowed me to delve into seriously deep thoughts while the music played… this is the only thing that I am good at actually. However, the world became disturbingly eerie when it occurred to me that the streets were completely deserted the entire walk home… I did not see one single person, not a single car passed by on the street, and nobody was inside any of the business establishments along Tunnel Road, not even Applebee’s. I was unsure whether or not the world had ended.




(6/12 2013) Day 5: A Phone That Never Rang

I had a job interview scheduled today at 4:00 at the Grove Park Inn that was mysteriously slated to be a telephone interview; I had never done heard of such a thing in my entire life. Also, I was not sure where exactly I needed to be for this interview… or what was considered proper dress attire to speak with these people on the telephone. There risked the possibility that I had misunderstood the woman because she had called to schedule the interview while I was walking down a loud busy street... perhaps I was actually supposed to physically arrive at The Grove Park Inn.

The scheduling for this interview was a slight inconvenience also. It was slated for 4:00 in an unknown part of the world and I had to be at work at 5:30. In order to punctually arrive to work, I ideally should catch the 4:00 bus to downtown in order to comfortably transfer to the E1 hand basket en route to Hell. I had no clue where to catch any bus near The Grove Park Inn.

All day I struggled to decide what exactly I should do to resolve this situation. Furthermore, I did not get much sleep the previous night because I was extremely nervous about the interview. Deciding where I should journey to conduct this interview was a formulated process as all of my voices of reason sat in a discussion group in the board room of my inner conscious analyzing data, viewing slides, and discussing various options. Arrangements also needed to be made as to what to wear; my amount of acceptable clean clothes was limited and I needed to wear the appropriate attire to walk home from work later that night.

As usual, I never fully made a rational decision. It was hot as a burnt smoldering baby, and I definitely did not want to show up for an interview sweating like an arson suspect who just torched the house in which the baby smoldered. Profuse sweating would spell disaster because the horrendous odor that naturally emits from ass crack sweat could potentially make my already lackluster clothes smell even worse. Therefore, I put on the “nice enough” black pants that I had intended to wear to work that day and left the house wearing a T-shirt and my boots (I had stashed a good clean unwrinkled shirt (one that I had been saving specifically for this interview) and figured that I could change my clothes if necessary. The only somewhat rational decision I conjured was to walk to The Grove Park Inn and simply await the telephone call in the parking lot… I could enter quickly if they requested.

It should also be known that the previous night I had dreamt that I was rummaging through my clothes and happened to find a wad of cash in one of the pockets. This was not the typical 39 cents in which I generally find in real life. No, in this dream, I had found a stack of bills. The dream kept getting better also... there was bundles of $100 bills stacked neatly behind the clothes in my closet. I took this as a premonition that my life was about to change and that I would obtain this job… assuming that I wasn't eaten by a bear.

I left the house early to go to the place in which I did not need to be. En route, I stopped at Atlanta Bread Company and guzzled several cups of coffee. To be honest, I was not exactly in the mood to do this interview, but needed to be at my best. There was too much uncertainty surrounding me and I was attempting to rid myself of all negative influence.

While I was sitting at Atlanta Bread drinking coffee and listening to music, it occurred to me that all of the patrons were old people and screaming ass kids… I felt like I was at Bowls Department Store. It also occurred to me that all of these old people had decent jobs, clean clothes, a bed, and could even afford to raise a family. I wondered what they did differently than what I am doing now, or how I had conducted my entire miserable life. People claim that I am intelligent, I have an outstanding work history… but nobody will hire me. Furthermore, I could never obtain a job in which I actually liked or was unconditionally qualified/gifted… such as selecting the playlist for the coolest establishment in town.

Discouraged by all that was surrounding me, I finally left Atlanta Bread Company. The hill ascending up Edgewood Road seemed enormous and I wasn't even positive that I could climb it without breaking into the type of sweat that a convicted arsonist endures while awaiting sentencing. But, my voice of reason gave me the encouragement speech. 


Tony, you got this. People like you, you’re funny… hell, some people even said you was the most awesome mother fucker this side of the Mississippi. Go climb that hill now… and get a mother fucking job!

It wasn’t nearly as steep as it looked. 

When I finally reached my destination at 3:42 PM, those several cups of coffee were seeking the emergency exit. Just before the interview was scheduled to begin, I contemplated ducking behind a tree back by the golf course. It proved too difficult because cars kept driving past, and I never developed the courage to pull the little thing out. I suffered from having this bizarre fear that the person conducting the interview would drive past and bust me urinating on Melvin, the town’s favorite tree. Also, I was checking my phone every 30 seconds and could not ever get comfortably situated.

By the time 4:00 rolled around, I was nearly having an anxiety attack. I had never conducted a phone interview before and I was stressing out about which questions they were going to ask. Furthermore, it would be extremely awkward if, in a state of emergency, I had to run behind these bushes and take a piss while I was on the phone being interviewed for a bartender position. It would be even worse in the person on the phone heard the streaming rustle the leaves and called me out on it.

4:05 PM, I decided to call them, because maybe that had been the plan all along. As I dialed the number, I was extremely worried that I had not followed directions properly and the interviewers would harshly scold me for not calling on time. But, I was positive she said she would call me. There was no answer. My phone never rang.

4:18 PM, I had no choice but to surrender and retreat back to Merrimon Avenue where I could hopefully catch a bus relatively on time and make it to work with some dignity—I was thinking of excuses as to why I would be late, while checking my phone every single second anticipating the call.

Fortunately, I never became brave enough to piss on Figglestein's Friends of Nature and a natural bodily function became an urgent matter. Also, most of the walk returning to Altanta Bread Company was down the steep mother fucking hill that initially had instilled fear. Then, it was no longer a walk… rather a sprint… all the way back to that proud domain that contained the only acceptable porcelain fixture society was willing to tolerate. I am certain that I looked foolish running through the restaurant while darting straight to the bathroom the way I did. But, I made the trip so fast that it enabled me to catch the allotted bus in order to make it to work on time.

Work that day was a daze. Why didn’t they call me? I desperately needed that job because I was growing increasingly more impoverished from working at Bowls Department Store. Perhaps the woman who was supposed to call had been eaten by a bear. Great, now I was responsible for the deaths of not only Batman and an innocent prostitute, but also the Human Resources lady at The Grove Park Inn.

Furthermore, I had another dilemma on my mind. My mother reminded that she would be in town visiting on the 14th and she asked if I was able to have that day off from work. I never submitted the schedule request to have that day off primarily because I was not intending to still be employed at Bowls Department Store. Hopefully, I would only be scheduled for a few hours and could still enjoy the visit. However, I was scheduled to work 3-11:30 that night and those hours would disintegrate all possible hope of properly visiting my mother. Also, I needed to work those 8 hours because that was a good portion of my hours for the week.

Sadly, there was nobody to trade with and I had to forfeit working that day. I found somebody to cover my shift, but the manager on duty claimed that she would not be approved because she had not been trained to work in the department in which I was scheduled. In fact, nobody was. While I have no problem citing Bowls Department Store as the cause of my death, I was unwilling to allow this job to stand in the way of a visit with my family.

It had been over 3 years since I last called out for a shift. Therefore, I felt that I had at least moderate justification to call out should it become necessary. Furthermore, I contemplated simply quitting Bowls Department Store and never returning. I had made a decision that on July 1st I was going to initiate Plan DD if I couldn't do any better than Bowls Department Store. Somehow, I could pay my roommate the rent money for the month of July, and then start walking for 40 straight days… wherever I ended up in 40 days after solitude from the rest of society, that was where I actually belonged. And if I were to be eaten by a bear somewhere in those 40 days en route to walking from this miserable life forever, than that would hold more dignity than getting killed walking home from work… plus, I could still credit Bowls Department Store for the cause of my death.

Because I had no definitive answers yet to my current vexation, I was unsure as to whether or not I wanted to be attacked by the bear walking home on this night… or if I needed to preserve this disastrous outcome in order to see my mother one more time. Family has always been important to me, and I therefore took extra precautions while passing through Bearville.

I wasn’t ready to go home, even after walking 5.4 miles, and walked around downtown for a bit. Because I only had about $1.43 to my name, my options were limited. Then emerged a new upcoming expense that I had been meaning to do but have not had the opportunity to achieve. I desperately needed a new pair of shoes and was hoping to accomplish this feat during the upcoming sale in which employees received an extended discount. Somehow, this had to happen for sure.

While at Tiger Mountain, a girl I had never seen before approached me and asked me if I ever walked down Merrimon Ave. Everybody in town walks down Merrimon Avenue. Then she stated: “And you wear like these big sunglasses… and those boots, I recognized you with those boots.”

What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? I moved to Asheville in order to never be noticed by anybody. That temporarily put me in a dilapidated state of mind. Purchasing new shoes this weekend became something that I must accomplish by all means. Simply put, I cannot have people approaching me in this manner.

She went back inside and I simply ignored the fact that she ever spoke to me. Instead, I rejoined Cameron and we talked about various theories and reiterated our now famous question: Would you rather be murdered by your girlfriend or commit suicide? We actually took a survey on this matter and the results were about a tie, although “who the fuck cares” garnered two votes and another response indicated, “Both sound equally appealing; I’ll take whatever I can get at this point.” Such cheerful people we are!

I changed the question to: Be murdered by your boss or suicide? Suicide won that one unanimously; to the extreme that it was no longer a worthy question. My boss at Bowls Department Store had been causing me some problems, and I confided in Cameron for I was certain that she was plotting to kill me; that she may even be more of a threat than the bear. This is when he told me that it was more than likely because she “wanted to mate with me” but had no idea how to express it.

And then Will arrived, with an even more invigorating assessment:


“I see you haven’t been eaten by a bear yet.”





(6/13 2013) Day 6: The Golden Age of Inconsiderate Old People

Grove Park Inn called me first thing in the morning, apologized, and rescheduled the interview. That dilemma had been resolved. Thankfully, the woman had not been eaten by a bear, and therefore the people I had been responsible for killing remained at 2. My voice of reason reminded me that Batman was but a God damn dog, but some other asshole living in my head informed me that dogs were people too.

Also, I received an E-mail from another company I had applied and they too wished to conduct an interview next week.

My work situation had yet to be resolved. Unfortunately, I do not have the ability to simply call in sick without having my shift covered. The last time that I did that, Valentine’s Day of 2010, it was due to food poisoning from eating God damn shitty ass mother fucking Pot Roast at shitty ass piece of shit lousy mother fucking Shoney’s. There is nothing grosser than puking pot roast in the grotesque matter that strands of that gross ass miserable shit comes shooting out your nose.

I was worried that if I called in sick that I would actually be stricken with a terminal illness and be reminded of the traumatizing affliction that emerged from the catastrophic pot roast incident of 2010... The St. Valentine's Day Genocide. Then I recalled the time before that in which I called in sick to work… and skipped school. This was back in 2006 and I had taken Aderol to complete a homework assignment for school, but instead, opted to listen to Madame George by Van Morrison on repeat for 48 hours straight.

The last resort (the only available employee trained in the department I was working, a job that required zero skill whatsoever) could not cover my shift. But, I told the scheduling manager that Kelsey had agreed to cover my shift and she stated that Kelsey simply needed to call in and verify this information. I called her and left a message for her to do this. She called after the store was closed and unfortunately Carrie was the closing manager. This is unfortunate because Carrie is the actual store manager, relatively new to the store, and she downright despised me. It was actually a mutual feeling at the time. She did, however, approve of the shift change, even though I remained certain that she wanted to see me dead.

On the night of 06/13 2013, I had to close with Carrie for the very first time* (*the first time that I actually stayed until everybody left.) I recalled that I had expressed my disapproval of her with my friends outside of work just last night, and they agreed with the theory that had once been implied by a different friend in Cincinnati… what I now refer to as “The Malcolm Theory.”


"When a woman displays an intense degree of anger, this is simply because she is madly in love and attracted to the person in which the hostility was directed."  
~ Malcolm Turner, Founder/CEO Playa School

My friends in Asheville concurred with this theory, and therefore, it is 100% positively true. 

This theory provided me with a sudden resurgence of self-confidence. Any time I would walk past her and she barbarously gave me an intimidating sneer without speaking to me, it made me feel good about myself and I would walk with a swagger while taking prolonged gazes at myself in the store mirrors. When she directed unwarranted threatening hostility towards me, that’s when I knew that I was having a good hair day.

Unfortunately, several other employees had expressed that she had snapped at them also. I was confused as to whether or not she was madly in love with everybody in building or genuinely hated us all. That’s when I realized that we possibly shared something in common… whenever she masturbated thinking about a person; the subject of her fantasy also soon disappeared without a trace. Regardless of the circumstances, she was more than likely going at it non-stop; either because she wanted to fuck every person in the world, or because she was attempting to eliminate the entire human race.

Most Depressing Scenario Ever: The possibility of this shared interest deeply saddened me. The attendance problem at Bowls Department Store grew increasingly worse, and I assumed that anytime an associate did not show up for work it was because Carrie had masturbated thinking about him/her and that person vanished into the pits of the unknown. But, I was still around; I had perfect attendance. This meant that she had never masturbated thinking about me. As a result, I sat in the break room for a full hour, pouting, weeping, eating dangerous portions of stale Little Debbie snack cakes (because I could not afford the typical ice cream binge) while crying out loud, “I’m ugly. I’m fat. I’m stupid.”

My voice of reason finally comforted me, “You’re not fat.”

“I’m ugly and I’m stupid.”

“It’s OK baby, lots of people are.”

It was a ridiculous theory anyway. Furthermore, I am the only person on Earth gifted with the ability to make people disappear by masturbating thinking about them… this is my special power… I am a super hero… there will be Comic Book and Summer Blockbuster Film made after my unique abilities. I just have to learn to engage in sexual fantasies involving The Joker, The Penguin, and various other villains.

In what would prove to be one of the strangest phenomenons to ever occur anywhere in The Universe, somewhere during The Golden Age of Inconsiderate Old People, Carrie became the love of my life. It was a long rocky terrain how I became intimately involved with my manager that night. 
After we are closed, the employees in the store engage in some more serious Bowls Department Store foolishness in which a multitude of various situations are discussed in the sort of Bowls Department Store terminology that not one single outside spectator would be even remotely interested. Normally, during these “huddles,” I stand in the back, off to the side, hoping to never be noticed, and disregard all topics being discussed in the meeting while I ponder where my life had gone terribly wrong.

The opening portion of this particular meeting, Carrie angrily declared that we had “messy customers.” I had previously been in trouble for claiming that our customers were lazy because some woman tried on a shoe, didn't like it, tossed one shoe on top of the display rack, and left the box lying messily in the middle of the floor. Apparently some other lazy whore heard me mumble this to myself, and rather than utilize this as an opportunity to better her fat lazy swollen ass by knowing how her category of people is actually perceived by the majority of society, she trotted her fat ass to the Customer Service desk and reported my mumbled comments to management. It was surprising that this filthy cunt even had enough energy to walk the distance all the way over to the Customer Service Desk… or how she even guessed that this might be an ideal place to speak with management. Rather than being awarded for taking the appropriate initiative for putting disaster creating customers in their place, as many other stores do (some even post signs that read “do not touch” on their merchandise), I was reprimanded and told to be careful how loud I blurt out comments.

Later that day (the one in which I was scolded), another employee stated over the radio, (when noticing the tremendous mess that was made in a fitting room) “I hate to see what these people’s houses look like.”

My overheard comment perfectly represented the exact opinion of all other employees. In fact, I was simply restating another person’s line who had told me that our customers were extremely lazy during orientation. Words such as "orientation" imply corporate bullshit that people will engage in only if they are being paid to do so. Do you know anybody who has MSDS sheets at their house?

I have worked at numerous places dealing with the general public, and simply put, this particular Bowls Department Store has the worst most disrespectful customers I have ever seen. It’s to the extreme that I have said to myself, “we have to have a discussion about Bowls Department Store, and compare and contrast how it pertains to the end of the world.” We thought about Bowls Department Store, these customers from peculiar places… and I thought about these people for a prolonged period of time, devising theories regarding their shortcomings and negligence towards human rights.

I have concluded that the #1 primary cause of the horrendous habits displayed by the customers is because of the terrible music played in the store; #2 is because 85% of our customers do not even live in Asheville… they come from shitty ass southern villages that do not even have schools.

It should also be known that there have been several displays of sheer vulgar negligent stupidity in which a customer will leave an empty drink cup, often with a dirty chewed up grotesque straw sticking up out of the lid, setting inexcusably on a clothing shelf or crudely lying in the middle of the sales floor (also keep in mind that there are some establishments that do not even allow drinks in the building). Of the 35 drink cups that have been tactlessly left in area in which it obviously does not belong by some fat whore who was too lazy to carry it to a trash can, there has been one extremely noticeable trait of these cups:

Compilation of data indicating which restaurants the litter had originated:

Only one blue line indicates that Chick-Fil-A was guilty of all 35 counts.


Chick-Fil-A was being boycotted anyway because their food sucks, as does their anti-gay marriage backwards ass political philosophies. It became obvious that the only people who proudly supported Chick-Fil-A were fat lazy slobs with no respect whatsoever for the concerns of others or even the appearance of their own community. We could also conclude that the only people who opposed gay marriage were fat lazy annoying nuisances who shamelessly littered in department stores. These people offer nothing to the world except misery, grief, and anguish.

Ridding the world of Chick-Fil-A would be a giant leap forward for the advancement of modern society. I adopted a mission that I was somehow going to jack off thinking about Chick-Fil-A in order to make it disappear; I’m sure that somewhere in the building there had to be a hole in the wall in which I could fuck. If this does not work, then perhaps a date will be set in which the world shall unite and ignite a sting operation: one night after the restaurant is closed, all Chick-Fil-A franchises will be burned to the ground. This would be a major decisive victory to ensure that Mike Judge’s Idiocracy does not prove prophetic in our lifetime.

***I have no problems whatsoever expressing my desires to commit acts of terrorism against Chick-Fil-A because it is Freedom of Speech! ***

This Chick-Fil-A Asshole created #36
Carrie was not present on the day in which I was reprimanded for speaking negatively about the loathsome customer, and I do not even believe that she had yet arrived at that store. After her “messy customers” comment, I simply told her that she should be careful where she makes that statement. She implied that she didn't say it loud enough for a customer to hear as I had done.

At first, this was fine. I figured that now we maybe had two things in common, and that we could possibly get together one night, lie in bed together, and masturbate thinking about all the messy customers that shop at Bowls Department Store and ruin the experience for the good customers. This was a wonderful idea as it would have satisfied a number of personal ambitions; it might have even been regarded as the greatest moment of my life.

But, after a brief pause, she concluded by insinuating that me making that remark was the reason why our customer service score was so low the previous week… the week in which I wasn’t given many hours. (Me sharing the unanimous opinion of the entire staff out loud with the general public took place several weeks prior.) I immediately retorted by defending myself with the common knowledge that I am common customer favorite and backed it up with evidence that I had received numerous customer comment cards with flattering praise. Customers enjoy me because I frequently make them laugh, albeit many of them are easily amused.

History has proven that in numerous cases, the one who actually files the complaint is actually the cause of the problem. Customer complaints are mostly blatant confessions to their own inadequacies. Many of them are either trying to swindle merchandise for free or have become irate because they are too stupid to figure out basic common sense on their own without assistance. And once a person has received too many instances in which they have been unable to grasp simple procedures in a store, they more than likely should be placed in a home. 

In a Universe parallel to ours, some imbecile went to a concert and hated the band. This tyrannical fool went to management and complained the band was too loud, offensive, and deplorably immoral; claimed that the only way any person on Earth would have any interest whatsoever in this band, would be if they became a country band that only played bad cover versions of shitty country hits from the past... the type of meaningless garbage the complainer listened to several years ago. The ever impressionable venue owner actually felt it was essential to satisfy this asshole's dissatisfaction, and then crudely criticized the band's performance while demanding they meet the standards of the unrighteous complainer.

As a result, on that particular plane of The Universe, The Beatles were unwisely transformed into a shitty country cover band just because somebody complained to an authoritarian who was too eagerly willing to cater to the loudest complainer, the one person at the show who annoyed the living shit out of the rest of the patrons. That world consequentially came to a tragic end 17 years ago. 

The lesson we learned: When dealing with customer complaints, make certain the complainer has legitimate credibility, that the resolution will without all doubt be beneficial to the outcome of The Grand Scheme of Things, and that you are NOT, in any way shape or form, transforming The Beatles into a shitty country cover band.

After Carrie's ill advised remark towards me, I was prepared to mercilessly pounce on her and comprehensively express all of the intricate problems within the store and exactly what factors had caused the problems. I wanted to adamantly prove that it was actually the fat lazy annoying Chick-Fil-A pillagers, who she had previously defended, that were the actual cause of the low customer service score. If she wanted to represent the lazy imbeciles, that was her business. But, I was standing up for the rights of consumers who had actually been out in public, who actually possessed a brain, and wished to shop in a store that was clean without the hassles of searching for mismated shoes that some fat lazy ass bitch had ditched in some other inconvenient department… the people she was defending was hated by not only the employees, but also by the other customers who had to suffer repeated tragedies as a result of their disregard to common values.

It is also important to consider whether or not the standards being conducted, as it pertains to company policy, is positively superb quality. In many cases, company policy was written by incompetent derelicts pushing their own agenda and in no way represents the best interest of anybody, especially the customer. Numerous businesses have tanked as a result of the company policy that was written by a pathetic group of corporate nimrods who were incapable of devising anything worthy of considerable praise by anyone seeking innovative brilliance. Some of these people actually think that their policies override Federal Laws, such as "NO REFUNDS" (you technically have 3 days with ALL sales.)

Next problem that occurred right at the very moment she blamed my comment for the bad customer service score that happened the week I wasn't given many hours because the billion dollar corporation needed to avoid ethically compensating a worker with full-time benefits: Katy Perry was playing for the 6th time in a 5 hour shift. I was also fully prepared to relate my in-depth theory involving the demographics of the people we were attracting and distracting with the in-store music—coupled with the problematic products being sold in the store which undoubtedly pandered to legalized vandalism. I wished to discourse all of the elaborate details pertaining to the incompetence of the corporate office, which was equally deleterious as the contaminative Chick-Fil-A malefactors. I was prepared for an argumentative debate to indisputably conclude that all of my revolutionary concepts regarding this conjectural matter is completely accurate. Shortly after making her look stupid in front of her entire staff, I planned to terminate my employment at Bowls Department Store effective immediately.

However, just as I was about to launch my assault, I stopped short.

At the time, she was standing by the customer desk perusing some notes, and for one still moment in The Universe, Carrie did not look evil. Maybe I felt sorry for her, but I think that I fell in love with her at that moment. Rather than go on a tirade, hearts fluttered in the air as I mysteriously pictured us happily running beside a lake, holding hands, laughing like two stupid douchy assholes in love. 

After I had left work, and the doors were locked, I realized that I had forgotten my umbrella. There was no way that I could walk home without it. Fortunately, Carrie had not left and allowed me to go back in and retrieve the damn thing. She was already obviously displeased with me—she mentioned the fact that she had to return to work at 7:30 in the morning and for me to hurry. This did not come at the appropriate time because I was certain that she was targeting me for assassination for me having to cover my shift, and not yet realized that I fell madly in love with her just 5 minutes beforehand.

The beginning of this walk was preparing for reality. Not only was I slated to be eaten by a bear in the near future, I was now on the verge of getting fired from Bowls Department Store, and possibly murdered by my boss… even though my perception of her had changed drastically. Part of me was happy about this because, let’s face it, excelling at Bowls Department Store is not very impressive. 

I thought about Carrie the entire duration of the walk home—to the extreme that I contemplated naming a shrimp boat the S.S. Carrie. She obviously felt the same way as I did about the messy customers. Furthermore, she had previously pulled the trigger on the Crack & Barrel disaster, which was my idea and some people had deemed that I was crazy for even theorizing it. 

(I had told Natalie that Crack & Barrel shoes were a problem causing item, and that having that particular style in the store’s center aisle display was only going to cause perilous hazard; I guaranteed that the display was going to be an ongoing disaster and become a total eyesore right in the middle of the store. My words proved prophetic.

One day, out of the blue, Natalie finally told me that the Crack & Barrel display needed to be eradicated, taken down, and completely dismembered—and this was Carrie’s idea, who said to “kill it.” It was actually my idea—part of me was disappointed that she stole my idea without proper accreditation, but I was simply happy that I was emphatically accurate on something that the rest of the staff had never even considered… it also fueled my hatred for Corporate, who were the ones who assumed that it would be a good idea to put this display in the middle of the store… these assholes are also the only reason why we carry this brand in the first place and are so stupid that they actually think that it is a good idea to play shitty Kelly Clarkson songs every 10 minutes. Also, Crack & Barrel is the store's exclusive brand.)

It should also be known that I have since placed Crack & Barrel shoes under extreme boycott and adamantly refuse to perform any work in the Crack & Barrel section. I had given them one final chance and put forth immense time and effort to perfectly straighten the Crack & Barrel section to be the most elegantly displayed highlight of the entire department… not even 10 minutes later, it was a total wreck; and I have pictures to prove it (see below). Also, there are stray boxes of Crack & Barrel shoes littered all over the store in every department in which they do not belong. These shoes are the cause of many of the store’s problems. When I am finished closing the Shoe Department, the entire department is perfectly aligned… except the Crack & Barrel section, which I will leave in the exact same condition in which the customers had left it.


I put forth much effort to make this perfectly detailed.


5 minutes later

Carrie obviously opposed of Crack & Barrel as well. Furthermore, I bet that Carrie also despised Sharon, who had been repeatedly telling on me for any atypical trait that I displayed. Other people were growing weary of Sharon as well, and I felt that I could utilize Carrie to put Sharon in her proper place… who outside of her constant nagging was actually a decent person, just a shitty co-worker.

There was a possibility that Carrie & I may have a number of common interests, but she could not freely express them because she was the manager. Maybe she really did have an attraction for me, and that might explain why she was too nervous to actually speak to me. After all, there are people out there who have poor vision and have not yet had their eye exam or purchased glasses—Carrie could possibly be one of them.

The fact that she had never even introduced herself to me became an attraction as well. Let’s face it, I despise all of the corporate clich├ęs and hate it when people enthusiastically introduce themselves to me. Furthermore, I am not necessarily a fan of people talking to me anyway. Maybe she does not like engaging in useless conversation either and views me as an ally because she does not have to even acknowledge that I exist… that this characteristic of mine is actually beneficial for both parties… just like our shared masturbating addiction.

As I walked home, I considered the realm of possibilities regarding how many other things we had in common. I wondered what kind of music she listened to while she was at home. Perhaps one day I could visit her house and find out for myself. Maybe I could make her a nice mix that she would cherish and exclaim that I had been the only person to fully connect with her exact emotions. And the two of us would sit on her couch, listening to music, or maybe watch a movie with her arm around me while I massaged her feet. Later, I could enter her bedroom and go through all of her drawers, neatly folding all of her clothes in perfect Bowls Department Store fashion. The two of us might actually make a nice couple, but never officially hook up… just have a nice relationship with non-sexual intimacy while we snuggled in her bed together.

Upon the visualization of her and me as a remarkable couple, I vowed to be unconditionally nice to Carrie for remainder of my employment at Bowls Department Store. After all, I never exactly spoke to her either—or properly introduced myself. From here on out, I was going to speak with only the utmost pleasant kindness, would proudly do anything that she asked me to do, and even attempt to display some charm of my own in order to make her smile more frequently.

My new goal was to win over the companionship of Carrie. All images that I had of her were viewed through a heart shaped border on the display screen of my mind. I was brainstorming numerous ideas in which this could become a reality. Neither of my voices of reason had any say in this matter… I figured the two of them were off fucking somewhere in the back of mind.

The night of 06/13/13, I fell asleep on my floor dreaming that I was actually lying in her bed with her arm around me.

That was that night. After that, I never thought about any of that shit again.


Section: 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8

Section I Soundtrack Listing:


1. Can
"Deadlock [Title Music]" 1:40

Soundtracks
1970

2. The Ventures
"Batman Theme" 2:15

Tele-Ventures
1966

3. The Modern Lovers
"Roadrunner" 4:03

The Modern Lovers
1972

4. Filthy Huns
"Out of the Grave" 4:41

Filthy Huns
2013

5. MC5
"Over and Over" 5:15

High Time
1971

6. The Beatles
"Why Don't We Do It in the Road?" 1:41

The White Album
1968


7. Sonic Youth
"In the Kingdom #19" 3:25

EVOL
1986

8. Debris'
"Tell Me" 5:05

Static Disposal
1976

9. The Fugs
"Slum Goddess" 2:01

First Album
1965

10. Christian Death
"Dream for Mother" 3:22

Only Theatre of Pain
1982

11. Curtis Mayfield
"Freddie's Dead" 5:30

Superfly
1972

12. Pure X
"Dream Over" 3:40

Pleasure
2011

13. Mercury Rev
"Downs Are Feminine Balloons" 6:39

Boces
1993

14. The Kingsbury Manx
"Hawaii In Ten Seconds" 1:43

The Kingsbury Manx
2000

15. Roky Erickson and the Aliens
"I Walked With A Zombie" 2:49

The Evil One
1980

16. Bill Conti
"Gonna Fly Now [Theme from Rocky]" 2:48

Rocky
1976

17. Montes
"Por La Lug De Dias" 4:41

Cuando Brille El Tiempo
1974


18. The Jesus and Mary Chain
"Hit" 3:30

Some Candy Talkin' EP
1986

19. Van Morrison
"Madame George" 9:45

Astral Weeks
1968

20. Cocteau Twins
"Frou-Frou Foxes in Midsummer Fires" 5:36

Heaven or Las Vegas
1990

21. Andrew Bird
"Darkmatter" 5:08

Armchair Apocrypha
2007

22. East River Pipe
"Keep All Your Windows Tight Tonight" 6:37

Poor Fricky
1994

23. Toy Love
"Toy Love Song" 2:40

Toy Love
1980

24. Smokie
"Living Next Door to Alice" 3:32

Midnight Cafe
1976

25. Don Covay
"Precious You" 2:43

See-Saw
1966

26. Blue Magic
"Spell" 4:22

Blue Magic
1974


27. Robert Wyatt
"La Ahada Yalam" 4:14

Cuckooland
2003

28. Daniel Johnston
"Crazy Love" 1:13

Fun
1994

All Sections Written, Designed, and Music Compiled by Tony J. Neal


©2013

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