Rhino Miyake and case of the fake Chanel

All right NOW! Charanda up in tha hiz-zouse! Fine and feisty to-night ladeez and gentle-thangz. Why? Why! Why! WHY!

Because I have just seen the most tragic fashion disaster ever to walk the earth. Blind retarded dwarves with no limbs and seriously bad cases of eczema couldn't do this badly. Hell, LiLo could roll down the street in a garbage bag, hot pants and fishnets and beat this. It was baaaaad. Both for what it was, what it TRIED to be and what it was never going to be.

So, I am husband hunting people watching downtown, slurping on a latte and generally enjoying a rare free afternoon.

It walks by. I think to myself "That shit did not just happen. There is no way in hell she is out in public looking like that."

I slung my laptop into my bag and set off after her. That shit was crazy and I could not let it go. One of these days someone is going to call me on being nosy and I am going to die.

Think of a hippopotamus - wearing a beyond skin-tight micro-mini in a black & white Issey Miyake-ish print. Now top that off with a Moe from the Three Stooges wig -- sitting kind of crooked because she's either forgot to put some Woolite on it and it won't lie down or she just don't know how to wear a wig.

It was just a damn shame. That was a nice wig too. I think she was going for Julia Roberts thing - when Julia was trying that short bob look - but this girl really, really needs to learn to take better care of her fake hair.

And don't get me started on the clothes. OH MY GOD. OH. MY. GOD. She'd take about twelve steps and look in a shop window, then try to hike the skirt down over her lady bits and her thighs. It poked out in the front (gut), the back (enormous trunk), sides (hips) and arms (saddlebags). She'd take twelve more steps and it would ride back up again. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Most of the fifteen-block downtown area could have been her gynechiatrist. Or her fishmonger. Whatever you prefer. If they could have found it.

For a while, I really thought it might be a man. We have plenty of trannies around - one used to roll up in the Wal-Mart around 11:30 p.m. each Sunday and buy ciggies and a couple bottles of wine. Very nice person - needed to shave before going out in drag - or apply a heavy foundation.

But Rhino Miyake here was a woman - just one with an extremely distorted self image. AND DON'T YELL AT ME. I'm all for big girls celebrating they self. All them anorexic heffas need go on - won't kill ya'll to eat a little. Women NEED some meat on them. But whatever size you are - you need to have the wisdom to dress APPROPRIATELY!

Damn. Look at Mo'Nique. Sister got all kind of stuff going on. Front. Back. Wherever. But she don't go out in public looking like a rhino stuffed inside a antelope now do she? She might wear some funky shit (her prison special - wtf sister?) - but it is gonna be in size to fit her. JUST WEAR SOME DAMN CLOTHES THAT FIT. Tight is good. Toothpaste tube is BAD. VERY VERY BAD!

If you got to keep pulling it down over your thang 27 times an hour - the skirt is too short. Unless you're a "working girl" and that skirt ain't the only thing gonna be riding your thighs tonight ......

I was gonna give Rhino Miyake a pass on the clothes - although she needed a talking-to on the wig - until she turned around and I got a real good look at her shoes.

Oh. Hell. No. She tried to make a fake Chanel logo on her sandals with a gold glitter pen. I swear to Shiva. Strike me down now as I live, breathe and blog. I rolled my eyes.

At least she keeping busy and not snacking. Damn girl. Fake Chanel sandals - in gold glitter pen. I have seen it all. I have seen it all.

--filed by Charanda deChristeax from the Rhinos & Winos Wig Store and Designer Knockout Boo-ti-kwee

Another Apple Store, 7:57 p.m. - The Apple geeks are ugly

Seriously, I don't know if it is something in the water or what, but the Apple geeks up in here look like .... well, there's no way to sugarcoat this, real geeks. It is frightening in its truthfulness. I think I've stumbled into some sort of fanboy convention or something - because some of these dudes look like they still live in somebody's basement.

The one at the genius bar is wearing a pair of ratty tennis shoes and shorts and looks sort of schlubby. There's one at the far end greeting customers that is wearing a pair of aquamarine - yes, I kid you not - AQUAMARINE (not just a Britney movie!) - shorts and the navy blue Apple T-shirts. It is one of most clashy trashy combos I think I've ever seen. Maybe he's trying to match the shirts of the girls in the store - who all seem to be wearing that shade of blue. Oh no honey. IT AIN'T WORKING!

The geeks here are not friendly either. There are four of them clumped up in a big group over on the right side of the store - like wallflowers at a school dance. Then again - if they all started out as geeks, they're probably used to being wallflowers at a dance.

Awwwwwwww. I just got an Apple geek all frothy with the prospect of me buying one of those super-sleek keyboards. I want one so bad it hurts right down to my toes - but I have absolutely no use for it if I have a laptop. I mean really, I don't like external monitors and don't want to use one - it does tend to cut down on the whole "portability" thing - but oh. my. god. I love those little keyboards.

The music up in here is whizack tonight. It's some sort of rappy-thuggy-clash crap that I can't even begin to identify. I don't even know if it has an identifiable melodic stream.

The vibe here is really strange. I get the feeling that this is a low-traffic store - it certainly seems so - because it is Saturday night and there are nearly as many staff as customers - and there are only about 12 customers in here. The staff aren't doing much - although that is totally Apple's laissez-faire way of doing things - touch, feel, play - then ask for help. But really, there is an odd vibe. I can't pin my finger on it, but there's just no "excitement."

You know, I'm about to call them on this too. I can't save for **** on this here iMac. The Safari browser seems whacked.

OH. MY. KALI. There is a howler monkey acting all kind of a fool up in the Apple "discover" station. It is going around pressing all the buttons on all the computers just to hear the different Dr. Seuss sounds. I'm all for "the wonder of discovery," but you better sit your little spoiled and pampered behind down and discover, not keep running around and howling. I'm about to turn around and smack it. It's parents do not deserve the wonder of a Mac. Thou shalt be thrown out of the church of our Lord Jobs.

There is a bald man on the iMac next to me. He is staring very, very quizzically at something in the iLife suite. Hurr. He is bald at a young age too. Bald by style or bald by choice? You never know. It doesn't look good on him either.

Oh Lord. Here comes his weird-looking wife. She apparently tried to jam a memory card into an iBook and "somehow" wiped the memory card? Can you even do that? Don't you have to have a card reader? I really don't understand people sometimes.

They're yammering at the guy at the Genius Bar and I swear to Shiva I saw him roll his eyes. The woman is pouting and squinchy and going "I don't know, but it was new when I bought it." Really, Most things ARE new when you buy them.

And this is not going well. They don't like what they hear from the Genius Bar - because the computer is telling him a different story. I must have gotten only half that conversation. Oh. They just got quoted $300 to fix whatever problem they have. I swear it was just some kind of memory card. Oh. No. It's a power cord for an iPod. They broke the power cord for an iPod - and now the husband is talking loud enough for me to hear. It was the kid who yanked the cord out and actually damaged the slot on the iPod.

Reason number 8,997,235 not to mix howler monkeys and expensive electronics. One will always damage the other.

Peace out. Much love.

Outside the Pita Barn, 11:34 p.m. - Because everyone loves shirtless boys

OK. We're working the college thing tonight. I roaming around in a brand new part of the planet and get a hankering for something to eat. I land beside the local college – and find this tiny storefront shop that sells pitas – and it is open until midnight.

I'm perched on a bench outside the store because the music inside is so loud that it would wake the dead, pierce their eardrums with an icepick and then serve the brains in nice compote for dessert. With toothpicks through the eyeballs. Maybe some chocolate sprinkles.

Still, the pitas are good and the college boys were very pretty. There were even two shirtless ones lounging around as I placed my order. Very hard not to stare. Impossible in fact.

No. It's not that kind of place. They were painted green from the waist up – because allegedly the college had a basketball game tonight. That, or there is some odd sort of William Wallace festival going on nearby that I obviously need to get myself too in a damn big hurry. Oh …. I miss college and the random happenstance of shirtless boys just lying around like tossed-aside soda cans in Third World countries.

I love the staff T-shirts here. One dude had on a shirt that said "Getting freaky with tzatziki" and there's another "Getting groovy with tabouli." I'm waiting to see what rhymes with "hummus." Yeah. Rhyme that one bitch.

OK. I really, really miss college. It is about a quarter till midnight now – and the place is jumping. It's nothing like the barren wasteland of cultural suburbia where I live. There are all kinds of young people up in this joint.

They're all bored college kids trying to find food on a Friday night – and one coked out sorority whore with cutoff blue jean shorts halfway up the crack of her Great Rift Valley and a V-neck that really looks more like a swan dive. Seriously honey – you need to get thee to a nunnery – that or some rehab. PS: That Chanel bag you're swinging around is a fake. The stitching looks like it was done by a blind Chinaman with an eggbeater using a vine as thread and the metal decorations are wrong. I can tell that from here. Much love.

The music is pumping out over the speakers outside too. "Sad Songs" from Elton. Wow. I don't really know how this is modern college music, but I'm loving it. I know Elton is like some kind of eternal flame (get it) that's good for every decade, but really? College? Anyway. It's really nice out tonight too. I wish there were actually tables and chairs, but I'm making this bench work.

On that subject – I'd like to deliver a great big "Screw You" to the Calistoga Bakery Cafe next door. Not only do they close early, but they literally lock up all the tables and chairs so that you can't use them. Ugh. My foot is going to sleep.

Now we're on to Three Doors Down and "When I'm Gone." Uh. This was big right around the time I was in college. Or graduate school. It gets blurry that far back.

One thing I severely DO NOT miss about college – stupid kids racing up and down the road acting a fool just because their rich daddy bought them a new pick-up truck. I really don't want to listen to your engine. Hell, I probably don't want to listen to you. The traffic noise here is nothing to write home about.

Well, I just saw a girl riding a motorbike in a pair of short-shorts. That … takes courage in a whole new way. Maybe she just needs a bikini wax and is just too cheap to go to the salon. Gives a whole new meaning to "burning it off."

Damn. IT IS JUST A NISSAN ALTIMA. IT AIN'T GOING NOWHERE FAST EVEN IF YOU GUN THE THING! OK? OK.

"Summer breeze. Makes me feel fine. Blowing through the jasmine of my mind." Oh. I love this song. I've always loved this song. My foot is totally and completely asleep. Damn.

OK. I'm tired. I've had a tough week – which accounts for no post on Thursday. I shall endeavor to do better in the future.

Much love. Wait. Stop. Just remembered this.

I'm going to deliver some much-needed fashion advice from earlier in the day.

Ladies, it is NEVER, EVER, EVER acceptable to wear Mardi Gras beads as everyday jewelry - especially if you are currently more than a thousand miles from the wonderful, fabulous and glorious city of New Orleans.

EVER. Are we clear on that? Crystal clear?

Even if you are 110 and have the Alzheimer's and think you might be related to Catherine the Great. Even if you think you ARE Catherine the Great. Hell, if you think you ARE Catherine the Great, you need to be wearing a live horse, a Bjork swan or vest made out of Russian bears or something. Not some damn Mardi Gras beads.

NEVER. In the unlikely event you rig the vote and become a Mardi Gras queen, you will be provided with appropriate gemstones.

DO NOT, and I repeat, DO NOT wear Mardi Gras beads with brown slacks and a yellow sweater. I will laugh at you and clown your wide behind on my blog.

We now return to our regularly scheduled blogging.

Apple Store, 4:23 p.m. - There is a shaved poodle in the Apple store!

Well, I have been driven to become peripatetic. I have been driven to worship at the altar of our lord Jobs. Yes. I'm typing at the Apple Store. Just call me David Duchovny and call this an episode of "Californication."

Mon dieu, it is hella crowded up in here. I do say that I love these new flat Apple keyboards though. I had to squeeze in on one of the big-screen iMacs because all the laptops were taken up by students doing Kali knows what with PhotoBooth and MySpace.

There are more retail slaves here than in a regular Wal-Mart. Most regular retail places could learn a thing or two from Apple. There is an annoying twenty-something in a pale blue T-shirt running around with a clipboard and a Palm-Pilot sized device that is just bugging the mess out of everyone.

You know, I realize that these are displays, not general use computers, but Apple could at least provide some stools. That, or raise the height of the counters to make it easier for people to type. I've tried about eight positions so far and not found one that is comfortable for me to type at for a long period of time.

Rich people have WAAAAAY too much money to waste on the last of the world's technological resources. Two girls over here are trying to convince these two old white people in expensive leather coats and $400 shoes to buy a laptop. She's working the whole iLife suite thing. "Look at iPhoto here. You can share your photos instantly." They're not buying it. I bet they'll go buy some piece-of-crap gPC at the Wal-Mart or something.

I LOVE THIS KEYBOARD. If I didn't have a laptop, I would totally buy myself one. Yeah, that and the fact that this keyboard costs $80.

There is an old woman wearing a turquoise green pants suit and dark, dark, dark sunglasses right up in the store here. Wait. She's got on a lime green Gore-tex vest OVER the pants suit and she has on a black crocodile bag. That's really an interesting combination of flavors there lady. AND SHE IS WALKING A SHAVED POODLE RIGHT INTO THE STORE. SO HELP ME GOD A SHAVED POODLE. I don't know who she is, or what she is, but this poor pooch deserves to be put out of its misery.

OK. Me craning my neck to get a better look at the dog just earned me a visit from one of the Apple geeks. "Do you need help sir?" No. I'm just trying to get a better look at the dog. "What dog?" That dog. And the dog picks that moment to howl.

Apple does not age discriminate. Some ancient fossil who looks like a skinny John McCain is trying to convince these two even older fossils to shell out on an iMac is touting the benefits of the widescreen display. And he is trying to play down the fact that it costs $1800. Now he's trying to figure out what kind of computer they have.

"Are you using Microsoft Outlook?" Really? I don't understand that question. It's so noisy in here that I really cant eavesdrop very well. He's selling the hell out the photo-sharing.

Now the old people want him to come to the house and install it. He's like "We don't do that. Macs are easy." These old people seriously want someone to come set the computer up for them. Damn. They need to go up to a Best Buy and get pocketbook-raped then!

This dude is having to sell the return policy because these old people are stupid. "We're going to take it out to the car for you. If you don't like it, you put it back in the box. We'll go out to the car and get it for you. Y0u don't have to do any thing else. You just tell us you don't want it."

Uh. OK. Just make sure you keep your receipt. Seriously. Old people are the worst shoppers in existence.

OMG. I'm laughing on the inside. I see one of the Apple geeks trying to get comfortable down the bar at one of the MacBooks. I KNEW THE PRODUCT BAR WAS TOO LOW!

You know, if this were a better working environment, I'd come here more often - like that woman who wrote an entire book at that Apple store. I think it was in the New York Times this past weekend.

Oddly enough, there are a lot - and I mean A HELLA LOT - of middle-aged and old people up in here. There really aren't that many young people. And the woman with the poodle walked by again. SHE IS NOT BLIND. I DO NOT WANT POODLE HAIR IN MY PRODUCT.

I really should fall down on the floor and act like I'm going into anaphylactic shock because I'm allergic to dogs. That shit would be so funny. I wonder if they'd give me a free MacBook because of it? Hell, I'd settle for one of the baby MacBooks - as long as it was a black one!

OK. My time is up. And my shoulders hurt from typing in this awkward position. Thanks to today's sponor - the Apple store!

PS: There are some cute Apple geeks up in here!

Downtown, 1:19 p.m. – Ugly art surrounds me

Business is booming at this downtown art fair. Also booming is this woman’s rear end at the tent nearest me. She ought have the grace (or good sense) not to wear stretchy fabrics if she’s going to be bending over a lot. I see London, I see France, I see this fat WOACA’s underpants!

Anyway. There are more stuck-up old people walking around looking at ugly art than I care to talk about. There’s a couple camped out on the next picnic table over that has huge sun hats on.

They already have a bag full of stuff and they’re perusing this brochure like they’re planning the invasion of Normandy. “What about this aisle here and then meet up at this stall?”

There’s a grouping of four old people on the table over from that that BROUGHT A COOLER. I kid you not. They brought supplies to an art show. Not art supplies. Food supplies. They’re not vendors, just shoppers. Old people are serious about their shopping in this town.

One old lady is dressed in a Marcel Marceau costume and I keep waiting for her to jump up and burst into a “Mime trapped in a Glass Box” routine. Instead, I think she’s trapped in bad fashion.

Oh my Aztec gods. The fat woman from earlier has been joined by another woman in a black and white tropical print. Every time she bends over I get palm fronds the size of Loch Ness staring me in the face.

There is a very tan, very fit man doing some things with telescopes. He has on a hat that would look at home on Crocodile Dundee and shades.

Random fashion advice. Fat ladies should not wear tiny backpacks. It does not work.

More random advice. Ugly art does not look better in large groupings. If anything, the ugliness is compounded. Think of a thrift shop. That sad and misused couch you donated just looks all the worse for being lumped together with its cast-off brethren.

I truly pity the people who feel that they have to fill their walls with all this bad art. I can see seascapes with umbrellas, seascapes with clouds, seascapes done in watercolor, seascapes with lighthouses, seascapes with forests in the background … you get the picture. Lots of sand and water.

The couple with the floppy sun hats is moving off. He’s breaking right and she’s breaking left. I wonder who will benefit from their large-wallet largesse?

The telescope man has hooked some victims. And he’s trying to sell a book to some poor unsuspecting woman. “You could see it if that cloud would cooperate.”

There is a woman wearing a black shirt standing at the telescope looking puzzled. Seriously. Who wears a damn black shirt to an OUTDOOR ART FAIR on a hot day? Are you insane? Well, if you plan to buy this art, maybe.

Telescope man is pimping this astronomy book like it is an Oprah best-seller. He’s moving this couple back and forth between the telescopes.

Let’s talk about Oprah. I don’t like Oprah. She’s a heifer. She let George Bush on her show in 2000 and let him kiss her on the cheek. Now look where we are. Shame on YOU Oprah. Shame on YOU!

Fashion disaster. Purple skirt. Pink top. Muffin top that prevents the twain from meeting.

Karma is a cruel mistress. I was just thinking “Who comes to an outdoor art fair in six-inch-high wedge heels” as this overdressed yuppie walked by. Ten feet later, she stumbled and went down. Slaves to fashion will always pay a heavy price.

There’s a random woman on a Segway wearing a Santa cap rolling around. I’d like a Segway.

OK. I’m done and I’m hungry. Must eat brains.

Peace out.

Barnes & Noble, 8:45 p.m. – I suffered for this post!

I have never had to work under such primitive conditions.

The battery on my MacBook Pro is dead. Very, very dead – so I have to keep the power cord plugged in at all times. I am at the Barnes & Noble – and there is exactly ONE power point in the café area. ONE.

Let me repeat that. ONE. It is not even near a table. It is near a plush chair – which is currently occupied by a skinny old dried up prune of a woman who looks like she sand-blasts the hulls of oil-tankers with her tongue in her spare time.

There are NO other power points anywhere else in the café area. NONE. I’m currently wedged beside a structural support staring at a display of MAD compilations and “The Indispensable Calvin & Hobbes.”

There are women and children and assorted howlers monkeys crawling all over me like I’m a dropped ice cream cone at a fair and they’re an army of ants. There is a shelf poking me in the back and I’m desperately wishing I didn’t have that extra soda for dinner. So help me Kali I’ll never spend another penny at Barnes & Noble again as long as I live.

Mon dieu. Why do parents shop with their children? This fat woman is arguing with her kid, who is bored and wants to leave. “HONEY I’M TRYING TO LOOK AT BOOKS.”

She’s yanking his arms and trying to make him understand that whining in public is unacceptable. Well, maybe if you paid more attention to him – and taught him to read – he’d find more to interest him in a bookstore.

This shelf keeps digging into my back and I can’t get comfortable on this floor. I have to keep remembering to hit APPLE-S to save so my entire volume of beautiful prose won’t go down the tubes – and protect my work from the hordes of people who go stomping by.

I just noticed that the display in front of me includes “Uncle John’s 4-Ply Bathroom Reader.” Neatorama.com is always quoting articles from Uncle John’s. I find it breezy fun – but I’m not sure I’d spend $9.98 on a book. Actually, I don’t even know the last time I bought a book. I usually just reserve a copy of whatever I want at the library and read the best-sellers that way.

There is a woman in a pink T-shirt and a pink velour jacket browsing the books over to my right. She has a Christmas list in her hand. She has on the ugliest pair of horn-rimmed glasses I’ve ever see on a human being. Totally wrong for her face.

Help me Kali. This shelf is totally killing my back. My left leg is totally numb. If you are reading this, please know that I suffered to bring these words to you.

There’s an old man in a red gingham shirt browsing the $12.98 table. He’s looking at a slim “The Beatles” tome.

My god. There’s a twelve year old girl with a giant glitter bow on her behind. She is wearing heelies and trying to skate on the carpet. She nearly wiped out and caught the edge of a table. Too bad the forces of Darwinism were denied a victim.

WOACA alert. Skinny woman in black jeans and black long-sleeved tee browsing the bargain paperbacks. She’s a short one, Mr. Grinch – trying to look taller by wearing three-inch heels. That’s fine – but she really needs to cover up the gray in her hair.

The girl that wiped out on the heelies is being marched out by her mother now. I wonder if they were asked to leave or if they’re just leaving? Hopefully it is the former.

Creepy man alert. There’s a dude in blue jeans and a white shirt staring at me. YES IT IS A LAPTOP AND I AM TYPING ON IT. He’s looking at pop-up books.

Cute boy alert. He’s checking out gift boxes. How to play the guitar. Is the flirting? No. He’s talking to a girlfriend. But he did say “excuse me” as he walked in front of me – which is more than the 27 other people who walked by did.

When did it become acceptable to go out in public with your lower buttocks exposed? Someone please tell me. Please. I’m looking at a girl – who has to be in high school – who is wearing a pair of short-shorts that would make Catherine Bach blush with shame. There is NOTHING left to the imagination here. She’s parading around with a Hollister bag and a frappuccino like nobody’s business.

Loud people coming up on my left. Please leave. And take the old man with you. He has wrinkles.

There’s a rampaging pack of teenage girls in here. One keeps reaching down to “adjust” something in her female area. I hope to the heavens she just has a tight thong. Although it would be poetic justice if she’s got a case of the LiLo firecrotch.

Anyway. There’s a freaky woman in a red spaghetti-strap tee and those horrible red Crocs who’s shuffling across the floor toward me. She has a tattoo on her ankle. This I noticed as she went RIGHT by my and didn’t excuse herself.

Die in a fire heifer. Die in a fire.

I’m out. I can’t deal with this anymore.

Peace, love and understanding.

Bad Ass Coffee, 7:02 p.m. – It’s deader than the Giuliani campaign

Unless these people dramatically improve their barista skills, I predict that the end is nigh for Bad Ass Coffee.

After three post-midnight exits from my office this week, I left early and came downtown to cadge a coffee and write. The downtown area is flooded with holiday shoppers, tourists and diners. If you look out the plate glass window in the front of the store here – you’d think it was New York on Labor Day weekend. Ghost town.

There is a tiny trickle of customers – but certainly not what you’d expect of a coffee shop in the downtown district – and CERTAINLY not what you’d think they’d expect from the hue and cry raised over their name.

Business must be hurting already. There is only one young barista here – nose piercing and all – and the owner. He’s out and about – pressing the flesh and greeting for all he’s worth. The personal touch is nice, but it does reek of desperation. Also, it took eight minutes for me to get my fruit smoothie. I can get a triple venti raspberry white chocolate mocha in under 90 seconds at the Starbucks. Speed of service is another strike.

There’s an argument at the register over decaf tea vs. regular tea. People. Please. It is a leaf. Camellia sinensis. Deal.

These two middle-aged tourists – WOACA & MOACA – dressed in slacks and black-white-stripes (an homage to Marcel Marceau?) are still arguing about tea. They are debating the benefits of caffeine with the owner.

WOACA is expounding on how she quit caffeine “cold turkey.” It would be more interesting if it were you know, actually interesting.

There is some sort of odd tropical jazz playing here. I can’t tell if it is tribal fusion, tropical fusion, Hawaiian fusion or what. There’s a samey-ness quality to it that sounds sort of like Hawaiian tropical elevator music.

MSNBC is playing video of the GOP debate. Does anyone really care? All I see is a bunch of white guys standing at podiums, expounding on social policies that more than half of America doesn’t agree with. They’re also doing this little “Does America HEART Huckabee” with a little heart symbol – a take-off of the “I Heart Huckabee’s” movie. Cute. Reducing the race for leader of the free world to Hollywood drivel.

Now MOACA & WOACA are regaling the owner with tales of hot chocolate in New Jersey or some other Yankee state. They’re telling him how to run his business. It was 89 degrees here today. Somehow, I really don’t see people running to line up for hot chocolate.

There’s a group of old people wandering by outside. They stop and peer in. They see people. They read the name “BAD ASS COFFEE.” The old people move on.

The pseudo-barista finally remembered that I ordered a snack to go with my fruit smoothie. Eighteen minutes after I placed the order, I get my cardboard chocolate cake.

This place has a gimmicky name, free WiFi, some interesting ambiance and very little else.

The staff just ordered Chinese takeout. I wonder if they’re paying for it out of the register?

There is a no-lyrics jazz version of “Jingle Bells” playing now. I almost didn’t recognize it. Very nice. Very peppy. I love Christmas music.

Play me out! Wait. Not before we get a jazz riff on “Here Comes Santa Claus!”

Wal-Mart, 2:49 p.m. – Old people are lugging oxygen tanks around in pursuit of those always low prices

What do you call the detritus of Black Friday? Whatever it is, I’m breathing it in right now. I hope I don’t get the MRSA or something.

I’m trying to lay low inside the Subway at one of the regular Wal-Marts in my hood and observe the action on a Black Friday from the customer’s point of view.

Let me go on record and say that if I were a customer at this Wal-Mart – I would be plenty pissed off. It is 3 p.m. on Black Friday – and there are only four registers open. There are LINES of people with buggies jammed full of cheap plastic crap trying to check out and no one seems to want to take their money.

The Subway here seems to be a popular spot. There is an Indian family off to my immediate right. This poor woman has four kids and a buggy full of junk. All the kids are restless and screaming and hopping around in the way that howler monkeys will do.

One chunky white woman just rolled up with another buggy full of crap – mostly imitation Barbies and Wal-Mart brand toys. She’s regaling two old crones with two-tone hair of her exploits. “I didn’t get everything I wanted, but I got a good start.”

Kali on a crutch. THIS OLD LADY HAS AN OXYGEN TANK IN A BUGGY. SHE WHEELED AN OXYGEN TANK INTO A WAL-MART ON BLACK FRIDAY.

My god. Consumerism has truly taken hold of America. She is seriously hooked up to an oxygen tank that she is pushing along in a buggy.

This old woman has an OXYGEN TANK and her MERCHANDISE in a freaking Wal-Mart buggy.

That mess did not just happen. It did not. I have to keep telling myself that or I will fall over and die. I wish I could have gotten a picture without being totally rude.

Citified homosexuals in camouflage coming through the doors now. One was cute. The other was wearing a camouflage thermal knit top. No way. No how. Baby Phat is not where it is at!

The air in here smells sad and dirty, and the people seem so desperate to spend. I wish they had quality merchandise to spend it on.

The after-work crowd is flooding in now. There’s a bored mother with three equally bored-looking teenagers struggling with a cart. Her son is wearing a John Deere hat in a totally non-ironic way. He looks like a few months a farm would do him good – in that “I need to learn to work for a living” way.

The lines are still long. Now there are only three registers open. And Wal-Mart wonders why sales are down? BECAUSE THERE IS NO FREAKING HELP!

Wal-Mart is going all-out this holiday season. They have every inch of this place covered with Christmas merchandising, big green “For Every Wish” signs in English & Spanish and actual greenery and ribbons on some of the registers and displays.

THERE IS ANOTHER OLD MAN IN AN OXYGEN TANK AND A WHEELCHAIR CART OVER HERE.

Cthulu on a crutch people. No damn plasma TV is worth venturing out on a day like today for.

If you are on an oxygen tank, do you really, REALLY need to be shopping?

This old man with the oxygen tank is sitting there in the MIDDLE of the big aisle in front of the registers debating some stupid plastic doll with his wife. Insane. Insane. Buy your granddaughter a book. It will last longer and do so much more for her mind. If she knows how to read, that is.

Another sign of the coming apocalypse? They’re selling “The Santa Clause 3” for $19.96. They ought to try that on the downloadable “pay what you want” model!

I just saw a manager go by with a loaded buggy – including an Xbox 360. Now where would he be going with that I wonder?

I can’t take this any more. I have a headache – the Wal-Mart headache. I’m bouncing.