Thursday, November 5, 2009

Spare Some Change For an Old Altar Boy, Fad'r


You ever notice how the palm one of one's hand can be formed into a perfect little cup?

And that when you're counting out my change and I hold that chalice beneath your face, I'm miming that "this is where my change goes."

Now, I understand that since you're working behind a register, those Master classes at Harvard Business School you're taking haven't gotten to the important curriculum yet.

However, unless your depth-perception has been fucked with by the asbestos in the walls of this needs-to-be condemned building, you see the cup I'm holding out to you.

So then why the FUCK do you drop the change all over the counter instead??

Now It's sliding all over the god damn place; that dime just fell on the floor; a nickel's rolled beneath the counter. I need this?

And look, your empty apology to me...just don't bother. I know you're not sorry. I can tell by the look on that Stars Wars mask you wear as a face.

It's bad enough I had to listen to you give me your sales pitch on the CVS card I should get with all the oratory eloquence of Daniel Day-Lewis in My Left Foot....

You know, the void in the art of raconteuring by the death of Spalding Grey may just have been filled. My spidey senses are tingling that there's a career change in your future!!

Just put my pack of Camel Lights and box of condoms in the plastic bag and let me be on my day, Morlock.

Congrats on your role in Precious, by the way.

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