You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
Black Friday on Thanksgiving Thursday.
It’s half time of the Bears v Lions football game and my phone lights up.
It’s a news alert: CROWDS LINE UP OUTSIDE J.C. PENNEY FOR BLACK FRIDAY. POLICE RESPOND.
I stare at the words and rub my belly full of 7,000 carbs, mostly ice cream pie and cupcakes slathered in delicious lard.
There’s a picture that shows people lining up in a grease smeared parking lot. My initial thought: Standing next to some bloated, gassy stranger, waiting for a mall to open, just so I can buy something marked down 50 percent that has already been marked up 75 percent, is Stupid.
It’s like seeing if the soup is hot by sticking your tongue in the bowl.
As the game commences, and the Lions proceed to fail as they have for almost every Thanksgiving Day of my life, I ponder the insanity that is Black Friday.
The idea is repugnant, like a marching band of large lobed mice all using the same Q Tip.
Shopping for items I can easily get on line, at home, in my underpants, is antiquated and a commercialized sham perpetrated by the fortune 500 companies of this planet.
As the Lions fumble away another opportunity on 3rd and long, I wonder why anyone would leave the sanctity of their warm home, still smothered in the aroma of pumpkin pie and gravy, to go stand in a greasy parking lot filled with exhaust fumes?
There’s still football to watch, and Captain Morgan’s rum to consume.
After all, Thanksgiving afternoon is throbbing. lively, full of possibilities like a 3rd date at a naked twister convention.
Think about the free entertainment value right there in your own living room:
Uncle Dingle Berry is just about to vomit onto his ugly Santa Sweater.
Auntie What’s Her Name is going to have a hot flash and pull off her pants and fan herself by the open back door.
And you wanna miss this to stand in line next to a flatulent moron with one tooth and a credit card limit of $14?
Are the Black Friday deals on Thanksgiving Thursday really that good that you have to cheat the calendar by an entire 24 hours?
The answer is no.
Yet there they are. At least 1,000 people with limited synaptic capacity and a genuine need to burn calories, all lined up around a mall parking lot.
They are sheep, standing ass to crotch, shifting weight from one arthritic appendage to the next.
They are dressed in Salvation Army drab. Their time could be better spent with a tooth brush and some dental floss.
Is this really what the Pilgrims would have wanted?
A line of mopes, all sharing the same unflossed tooth, standing in a line, baaaaing like farm animals to save 5 dollars on a crock pot?
Are the deals that good on Black Thursday, that you would give up your friends, your family, your football.
“It brings our family together,” one line standing zombie says to the hungry for anything that passes for news, news.
“We needed to get out of the house,” another toothless mope says staring into the lens.
Hey LAROLD. here’s an idea. Walk around the block. Rake some leaves. Catch the moles in my back yard.
Black Friday was a great idea in 1985 when flip phones were all the rage and Billy Ray Cyrus sported a mullet, the hairdo of champions and wife beating hill billys.
If it’s 2003 and shopping on line is a toddler in a high chair of acceptability, then I can understand standing in rain and sleet and rising radiation levels to get the latest TV Set that is an inch thick and hangs on your wall. I think they call it a plasma.
But now is the future. Where I can order Chinese Take Out, and a new kidney that smells of Old Spice deodorant, simply by hitting a link on my iPhone Magnus Opus.
The world is now our shopping oyster and Black Friday is every damn day.
Why are you out there people?
Because you are cattle, mooing for someone to suck on your swollen utter. You are mutton chops of stupid, being lead to merchandising slaughter. You are the failing hair follicles of a death row inmate sweating out the final hours of life.
The Lions lose and anonymous bears gather around a table full of turkey legs.
They shove the golden bird into their monstrous mouths and chew proudly using diction and improper verb tenses often reserved for the steerage section of the Poseidon Adventure.
The sun has set and the temperatures have cooled.
My thoughts of Black Friday dissipate into the next Christmas Commercial for his and hers Ford Pick Up Trucks.
I have a tryptophan rush to ride out.