on that

I had the misfortune, last week, to enter one of the larger sorrow palaces. aka, Kmart.  Just reiterating that this was a month out from Christfest.  First thing to get all huffy and superior about was the sheer fkn weight of humanity in the place.  By that I mean head count, but it could equally be said about the actual weight of the humanity in question.  The place was literally packed with fat bogans, waddling around trying to find as many ways as possible to diminish their potential to meet the next mortgage repayment on the mcmansion (and the 89" tv, and the brand new 4WD, and the harvey norman furnishings).  I actually swore out loud at one point.  Imagine that, a thin (sacre blerrr!) hippy standing in aisle of crap #3, talking to herself about fucking ducks.  A startling and unexpected sight, and not what the fatsos were expecting to encounter on an otherwise culturally pure morning At The Shops.

Anyway, as I strode purposefully (sans waddle ... the lingua franca of kmart perambulations, apparently) to my destination, I happened to pass the lay by desk.  Now, I know youz'll probably have heard this whine before, but it must be repeated.  WTF!  I would hazard the guess that there were 30+  in the line, most of whom had trolleys overflowing with immense, hideously expensive plastic toys in boxes.  Again, WTF!  Here's a tip. If it's so far outside your budget that you need to pay it off, you probably shouldn't be buying it.  It was all very bizarre and arresting to the delicate sensibilities of a parental who feels unclean at the thought of forking out more than $200 for 10-15 gifts.

But wait, there's more.  Had to meet someone from the Big Smoke for lunch yesterday, and she picked the Satan Plaza as it was near her work related hobnobbery.  O.M.G.  each year I'm shocked anew.  A vast sea of undulating superfluous flesh.  And that was just inside.  Trying to get OUT of the carpark afterwards was for the birds.  I sat behind a line of late model 4WD for close to 40 minutes - containing XXL women and 'my family' stickers on rear windows.  Which brings to mind this - they're not truthful, are they?  The family stickers I mean.  They're stick figures of childlike innocents. Stick figures. Furthermore, you can't show a southern cross tatt on a stick arm.

and further furthermore ...