An unholy trinity of random and admittedly ridiculous observations:
Red Tag Sale
Later this morning, the Von Maur department store in Omaha that was the scene of a violent rampage earlier this month will re-open its doors for the first time since that shooting. On December 5th, a heavily-armed teenage washout named Robert Hawkins killed eight people before doing what he should've done years earlier -- namely, ending his own worthless life. Last night, a memorial was held on the steps of the store; it was presided over by a local pastor who assured the crowd of mourners that Hawkins's act had transformed the otherwise average department store into what he calls "a holy place."
In keeping with the proud American tradition which dictates that nothing honors the dead or demonstrates resolve in the face of adversity like spending money -- best exemplified in the wake of 9/11 -- those on hand last night vowed not to let the terrorists win.
"I won't let this stop me. I'm going to be here tomorrow and I'll have my credit card," said one man with noticeable conviction. "It'll be hard at first, but we'll get past it."
Jingle Balls? That's 10 Bucks Extra
That Christmas present you're buying may very well have been made by a former prostitute.
From Belle Meade, Tennessee -- apparently the sweatshop capital of the contiguous 48 -- comes the story of Thistle Farms. The candles, soaps and balms which make up the company's line of products are, as it turns out, manufactured and sold at least partially by one-time hookers and drug addicts now enrolled in a residential work program. The women say their new roles whoring for the private sector (as opposed to Bishop Don Magic Juan) have filled them with a sense of pride (as opposed to various communicable diseases).
Although Santa always has looked quite a bit like a pimp.
"Is St. Nick gonna have to choke a bitch?"
One Big, Fat Ray of Sunshine
If there's a more surreptitiously subversive TV commercial than the current one for Dunkin Donuts which features hyperidiot pretend chef Rachael Ray, I'm completely unaware of it. The writers for this 30-second spot, with obvious knowledge of just who would be reading their copy, must've had a field day slipping in as many applicable double-entendres as they could conjure.
When describing her love for Dunkin Donuts' coffee -- which judging by her near-seizure-inducing demeanor, she needs none of -- Rachael exclaims, "It's a no -brainer!"
Even better than that though, and more hilariously appropriate given Rachael's expanding waistline, is when she proudly proclaims that when it comes to her favorite coffee, "I always have, like, a million pounds on-hand."
Yup Rache -- sure looks that way these days.
(Yes, the above picture is Rachael as I like to remember her: thin, cute and with something in her mouth so she can't fucking talk.)