Quote of the Day:

“Bah! Humbug!”     –Ebenezer Scrooge

….a lounge in the mall ain’t no lounge…..

Even if its at Saks. Listen up you little panty-waisted-skinny-jean-sportin-no-rimmed– glasses–wearin’ interior decorators…..I’ve had a long day walkin’ through your overly decorated and too brightly lit aisles dodgin’ little scamps and slow movin’ grandmas and waitin’ on cell phone distracted soccer moms for Jesus to find their checkbooks amongst all the lip balm and crayons and peppermints in their tote bags…..and when I see a sign for a lounge it’s the last straw. You know what a lounge is, you little knock-kneed-fashion-forward-disco-dancin’-fancy-boy twerp? It’s where I’m headed when I leave here. It has cigarette smoke that slaps you right in the face when you open the door and dares you to be man enough to defy it. There are two 1970’s era made-in-America RCA fourteen inch TV’s on a makeshift shelf in the corners above the bar–color TV’s, but the picture skips sometimes on all three channels. Oh yeah, there is a bar. It serves beer. And there’s a few well liquors back there just in case somebody really needs it. They’re all brown whiskeys. And if you ask the bartender chick who might have been semi-good lookin’ ten years, twenty thousand cigarettes and thirty tattoos ago for a purple hooter or a Red Bull she just stares back at you blankly. Maybe there’s a sign above her head that says “free beer tomorrow.” You can get a patty melt, the kind where the butter leaks out onto your shirt when you pick it up and you don’t care because there ain’t no chicks lookin’ to be impressed in a lounge so you just pour a little beer on it and take a big bite and look around to see if anybody’s sizin’ you up for a fight. In some lounges there’s a card table, maybe even  a pole with a three-foot diameter dance floor around it. And there’s ash trays full of butts, but nobody who’s smokin’ in there today seems to be using ’em. And there’s a Pac Man game in the corner that nobody plays. Did I mention there’s beer? And a pisser. And the pisser has every damn thing your little lounge has too and ads for a DUI lawyer and a bail bondsman just in case you need ’em, can your so-called “men’s lounge” say that? Didn’t think so. So quit callin’ it a lounge and remindin’ me of where I ain’t. ‘Cause by the time I got my Isotoners and a twelve pack of aaa batteries paid for I could’a used an hour or two in a real lounge instead gettin’ a lousy eyeful of your patronizin’ euphemistic excuse for one.

It was nice and clean though, so I appreciate that.