Tuesday, August 03, 2010
Sunday afternoon (after the roast beast and before the joy ride to Port Arthur) I introduced my aunts and uncle to the People of Walmart.com. My mom had received some of the Walmartians by e-mail and had shown the e-mail to them the night before.
I said, "You ain't seen nothin', yet. There's a whole website full of those folks."
This particular set of relatives (Aunt Gladys - 63, Aunt Hazel - 65, Mom - 75, Aunt Bernice - 77 and Uncle Henry - 80) are ultra-hip for their respective ages due to the fact that their children (my siblings and cousins) are uber-cool.
We try to keep them up on the latest trends. We give them e-mail accounts. We get them addicted to Facebook. For all their worldly pop-culture coolness, however, they weren't prepared for the glory that is the People of Walmart.
"Oh, my God!"
"What the hell?!"
"Doesn't she have a mirror? Who let her leave the house like that?"
"His ass is sticking out. His entire ass!"
"I'd like to pour spackle into his crack. Idiot." (That was Uncle Henry.)
"Can't she feel the breeze? She has to feel the...she's not wearing underwear! AAGGHHH!!!"
"Is that a man or a woman?"
"It's a woman. Look at her boobs. Are those boobs? I don't know anymore. I think they're boobs."
My uber-cool work for the day? Done.