To quote my favorite movie of all time, The Shawshank Redemption: “All you need in any given situation is a large fucking poster of Rita Hayworth, a rock hammer, pressure and time.” And that’s the secret.
Make sure you take everything you ever do in life extremely seriously. That’s what I do. I sure as hell don’t run face first into Publix’s automatic doors for fun, fuckface. They haven’t learned to respect me yet, but I’d bet a fistful of bloody pubes that I last longer than those goddamn automatic doors.
So when Publix finally lets me inside at 7 am, of course I’m already off schedule. What newfaggots don’t understand is that Publix has THREE GODDAMN JUICE SECTIONS! One by the sports drinks, one by the fruit, and one by the fucking baby aisle, which is completely ridiculous- FUCK.
“Where’s the fucking Martinelli’s Apple Juice you motherfucker!” I scream at some random old lady who was holding a packet of cheese until she dropped it when she screamed. I don’t know whether to feel bad yet, I need some answers.
“You better be buying that cheese and not stocking it, grandma. I want some answers! NO! I WANT THE TRUTH. WHO ARE YOUUUUU?!”
I let go of her cheeks and wait for a response.
“I don’t work here! And I’m only 45 years old!” she most likely lies. To my face. Unacceptable.
“UNACCEPTABLE!” I backflip.
After waking up in a puddle of my own blood and a deep gash on my head, I have only one thought. Vengeance. Nobody sabotages ME mid-backflip. I assume she’s standing behind me, laughing. Drinking the last Martinelli’s Apple Juice. I don’t have time for any more games. I perform a pelvic twist flawlessly, but by the time my upper torso completes the 180 degree turn the bitch is gone.
“Sir! You need to get some mango cranberry juice right away!” says a bold man in an even bolder white coat. “I can help you, just take it easy for a moment.”
His brazen attitude stuns me for a second, but I soon regain my composure. I begin by chortling, with a smile on my lips but death and power in my eyes. Slowly I arc back my head and stun him with a powerful laugh that jizzes confidence.
“GGHRRAAA GGHRRAAA! GGHRRAAA GGHRRAAA!” I shake my head furiously. “You think that YOU can find the mango cranberry juice before I can, Mr….”
“It’s Doctor!” he exclaims, somehow now soaked in blood. “Please calm down! Let me help you!”
“Fuck you Mr. Doctor. And fuck you Steve Martin. I don’t need either of you to tell me where the goddamn juice is!” and with that I grab my shopping cart and cart surf away faster than either of them can say, “You’ve probably fractured your-”
But I’m gone.
I decide to check out Juice Section 2, the one by the fruit. I find that I’m running low on fuel, so I grab the nearest juice. It’s Berry Blast. I chug my fill, then I refill it with piss and superglue it closed.
“Hey man, they have a poster section here?”
I pelvic twist around. “What did you say to me, punk?”
“Um, I just noticed that you have a Rita Hayworth poster in your shopping cart. Where’d you find it?” The kid says. I have a soft spot for kids, so I let him off the hook.
“Hey kid, scram.” I go back to shaking my freshly glued Berry Blast. The kid doesn’t get it.
“Hey pal,” he says, “First off I’m older than you, and I was just asking a- oh. You’re um… you’re bleeding pretty badly.”
What did he just say?
“Did you just call me your ‘pal’? Listen closely kid because I’m only going to say this once. I’m not your goddamn father, I’m not going to give you money for drugs, and GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME BEFORE I LOSE MY SHIT!” I shout to no one. I watched him walk away as I begun saying ‘listen closely’ but that sounded way too cool to not say.
I face the juice once more. Martinelli’s is nowhere to be found. I have but one last hope. The baby aisle.
I cart surf my way across the floor, flowering charisma towards everyone who can see me and only knocking down one or two. I arrive at the baby aisle in record time, and immediately begin my search. Of course, it’s hard to get some peace and quiet when you shine as brightly as I do. A nearby chick catches my scent in her nostrils. Game over.
“It’s so refreshing to see the father doing the grocery shopping for a change,” she flirts relentlessly, “Do you need help finding anything?”
“Yes actually, I’m looking for the Bizarro you. The one that’s hot and knows when to shut the fuck up.”
She looks at me with bedroom eyes. I pop a raging boner.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she says, marching towards me. But then she slips and I laugh. “Oh my god!” she screams from the floor, “Is that blood!? Did I slip in blood?”
When a woman begins having her period there’s only one thing you can do. Run. Martinelli’s Apple Juice would have to wait. A moment’s hesitation and next thing you know she’ll stop giving you money for rent and call you a huge disappointment. So I jumped onto my cart and surfed harder than I’d ever surfed before. Which is dangerous to do for many reasons. One of which being as you reach higher levels of g-force the harder it gets to stay conscious.
I woke up lying in a pool of blood near some shipping boxes. I somehow managed to get into the warehouse in the back. I get back on my cart and surf around, looking for an exit. I find none. Good thing I took that wilderness survival course. After taking my Rita Hayworth poster, rolling it up, standing it on the ground and looking at it’s shadow, I determine that its 6:34 pm. Shit. I need to get out of here. I haven’t eaten in almost 24 hours.
I look over at a nearby wall. Cement.
I superglue my Rita Hayworth poster to the wall, hide underneath, take out my rock hammer and begin my escape.
Geography is the study of pressure and time. That’s all it takes. Pressure and time.