The Wife and I go to the Wal-Marts OR I don’t get out much

This afternoon The Wife and I went to the doctor’s, the Wal-Mart (or Wal-Marts, as Matt over at That Tears It…, calls it) and Taco Bell/KFC or WKFC after I wondered about a few things there.

prozac I have no funny stories from the doctor’s visit. It was pretty plain Jane boring, but who knows? Things may be picking up after the big 90-day bottle of fluoxetine (ahem, Prozac for those of you not drug-literate). I may have all kinds of stories to tell. Of course, if it hasn’t helped me yet…

Well, anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, at the Wal-Mart…just when you need a cell phone from which you can download pictures, you don’t have one. Isn’t that always the case? Well, it is for me.

For what did we see? A little bird standing in the middle of an aisle, that’s what. Of course, I’d love to have a photo, but I don’t. All I have a photo of is a big bottle of Prozac, which I took when I got home — uh, the photo, that is, not the big bottle of Prozac, although I may seem a little off.

That wasn’t all we saw at the Wal-Mart or Wallyworld as one frequent letter writer to a paper for which I worked used to call it. My wife also saw a woman with one large tooth on register at the checkout. I know. Freaky, especially considering where we live and dental care is such a high priority. I think it ranks right up there with weight loss. Of course, my wife’s phone doesn’t download photos either.


I must not get out much, because I had never seen these little fortunes on the Taco Bell Fire Sauce packets and I was intrigued by them when I got them. “Hey, there, hurn, look at dese, dey are funnnnn-y.” Just a few of the gems printed on them:

— This space for rent. Inquire within.

— Will you scratch my back?

and then the ever hilarious:

— Help! I can’t tell where I am. It’s dark and I can hear laughing.

I think this last one would be true if you had that entire pile of packets pictured above of that bung-hole exploding stuff. I don’t think you’d be able to tell where you were either.

The hilarity, though, really started when I went to get a fountain drink and saw this sign:


This Flavor Can
Be Filled At The

We Apologize For
The Inconvenience.

The only problem: someone had forgotten to say what the flavor was. I, of course, being the dork that I am, had to share with a feller in camouflage gear there with his wife and their two young’uns about this after they were giving me strange looks for taking photos of the fountain machine:

It had on it this sign…but it didn’t say what flavor this was.

But then of course, I couldn’t leave well enough alone and had to add:

Maybe it’s like one of dem trick Jelly Bellies, you know, the vomit-flavored ones?

Of course, being the gentleman that I am, I added hastily:

Pardon me, ma’am. Didn’t mean to offend you.

And she said:

That’s all right.

Of course, later The Wife and my sister surmised she probably said later:



Later back at the Wal-Mart, waiting to pick up my prescription, I overheard this:

They should put in a g-d bed.

Of course, he actually said the G and the D, but since I already used some asteriks earlier in the day on one post, I thought you’d get the idea.

Therein endeth the story, leaving you and I both to hope that the Prozac kicks in here soon.


Ramble over to and vote for this post, if the feed is working right tonight. If you’re not a member, it’s simple to register, you don’t even have to have a blog and you’ll receive no spam– even though, as Monty sings, it is lovely and wonderful.

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