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Capital of Nasty Vol. 05 Issue 03
Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume V, Issue 3, AD MM
Monday, February 28, 2000
ISSN 1482-0471
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"He's not famous. It may be that when his life at last comes to an
end, he will leave no more trace of his journey on this soil, than a
stone thrown into a river, leaves on the surface of the water. But
it may be that the way of life he has chosen for himself, may have
an ever-growing influence over his fellow man, so that, long after
his death perhaps it will be realized that there lived in this age,
a very remarkable creature."
-- atman
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-------------------------------------------
1. Editorial
2. Never on Video
3. Roommates: Identifying the Species
4. Love Cats
5. Kinky Sex With Minnie Driver
-------------------------------------------
This week's Golden Testicle awards:
http://www.scarysquirrel.org/
Submitted by Samantha Stasiuk
http://www.rentajerk.com/
And of course, for those with a low end machine, TEXT MODE QUAKE:
http://webpages.mr.net/bobz/ttyquake/
-------------------------------------------
1. Editorial
By CoN staff
Keeping up with CoN's tradition, this issue is late as well. There
have been a few changes in life, such as a new job, fighting with
the bank to get new cheques (took them one month and a half, charged
me twice, and then to discover they weren't actually made yet),
getting my new place and the new CoN redesign we're all working on
(albeit I've done diddly squat other than bitch, but I'll take the
credit put in by Colin and Gard). With the new redesign, not only
will the webpages look more appealing, but there will actually be
information, generated dynamically by Gard's database program, and
include many more sections for your reading pleasure. Until then,
you are stuck reading some October issue.
After Jeff's article about Scream 3, we were all hoping for some
hate mail from the last issue of CoN, but nooo. No, not our
readership. We have to pry words out of them with a pair of rusted
pliers. Well, you know what? You all suck. I mean, come'on, I
thrive on hateful mail to make my editorials more fun, and you guys
just sit there quietly and read the issues and have nothing to
complain about? This is a nightmare. How good of a magazine can
we possibly be without any resentful letters from our readership?
Can you possibly all be happy with our silly drivel? I digress...
Today on my way home this rather attractive girl kept turning around
and staring at me. I went for the zipper thinking it was down, or
that a massive booger had leaped out of my nose. "Hi" she says and
I'm thinking "Okay, what's up with this? She's a drop-dead gorgeous
girl saying 'hi' so she probably wants a cigarette or give me
something like a set of speakers or religion."
Seriously, if you think about it, in our North American society, who
stops to talk to you? If it's not the odd American tourist that is
lost and looking for directions (the CN Tower? Why, it's the
tallest, biggest thing in Toronto, lumbering high above any sky-
scraper in this city, visible well before you even enter the Metro
Toronto area city-limits and you can't fucking see it?), it's some
guy driving around with a suspicious look in his face and with that
typical offer "hey, bud, wanna buy a pair of really good speakers?"
(I must have the face of someone who really wants good speakers,
cuz, this happens quite often). Alternatively it's just some nut
case or someone spreading their religion (they fall under the same
category, if you ask me).
Nobody else will talk to you. They will do their best to ignore the
fact that they are sitting in a crowded metro car. Everyone is
looking outside (yeah, the dark, poorly lit tunnels sure make for a
good view), reading a book, or staring at the shoes of someone else.
No wonder advertising in the metro is so successful. It gives
someone with no book who is tired of staring at shoes, something to
read.
The only people that do not fall in this category are Quebecers (the
closest thing we have to Europeans here). Sure, they are weird, eat
poutine and think they speak French, but one thing's for sure: you
walk down Montreal's main street and half an hour later you have 3
new friends.
But back to our heavenly creature:
"Hello" says hi "what do you offer? Religion? Drugs? You want a
cigarette?"
"Uh, sorry? Why do you say that?"
"Well, usually people here ignore each other as if the other person
did not exist, so when someone says 'hi' to a complete stranger, I
can only expect that you want something from me. Is it religion? I
don't see a name tag, so you are not from the Church of Latterday
Saints of Jesus Christ. What are you? Jehovah? I see no book. I
give up."
"I'm from [something I can't remember now] and I was
wondering...uh...if I could invite you to join one of our sermons at
our church".
She looked a little uneasy. Either she was expecting me to tell her
to fuck off 0.2 seconds after she had opened her mouth, or for me to
be some religiously active person who would've gone apeshit after
her ass (in a religious manner, of course).
"Thanks, but no thanks. What is it with you people that constantly
have to stop strangers and ask them this annoying shit? If it's not
you, it's those pretty boys with the tags. If it ain't them, it's
the Jehovah's and their end of the world story. Seriously, stop
trying to save the world. Go away."
"You are very bitter. Religion would help you heal..."
Of course, no matter what you do, religion, Jesus, the discipiles
and Ponzio Pilatus are all involved.
"Sorry. Not interested in becoming a mindless drooling idiot. I
rub the Bible between my legs everyday to get to know Christ
better," and I stormed off.
Last glance I threw at her she was still standing there with a
shocked look.
May Adam Trasher forgive me for stealing his rubbing-the-Bible line,
but my mind was blank for originality.
Maybe next time this happens, I'll use some of the lines Jason seems
to create out of thin air:
"Listen, your faith is using you as a prostitute, hoping your
attractiveness will make men listen to you. If you're going to be a
whore, at least make sure you keep the bulk of your profits, not
your church. By the way, that's a lovely sweater."
"Have you accepted Jesus as your personal savior?"
"Who?"
"Jesus."
"Never heard of him."
Or, "Yes I know. I'm Jesus. I just dropped by to let you know
you're doing a swell job. Keep up the good work! By the way,
that's a nice sweater."
Enjoy this belated issue you all-too-happy and never-upset
readership from hell.
IN LACK OF STAMINA, I'LL STICK TO CHOCOLATE:
Angie writes:
i was thrilled to read about "Luke De Sade"'s endurance...2 hours
and still didn't come....but too bad he's grossed out so easily by
our girl-juice.
he sounded like fun for a bit
(yeah i know he's too young for me, i'll relax now)
-------------------------------------------
2. Never on Video
By Jason MacIsaac
Perhaps it's because my years studying Radio and Television gave me
a healthy contempt for television and video, but I just don't
understand the obsession some people have with it. I have no desire
to grab a video camera and point it at my friends doing such
gripping dramatic things as eating lunch. Hanging out at the mall.
Lots of people however, do.
Ever go into a mall and see some idiot dad filming his idiot family
standing in front of the fountain, or some vaguely interesting lump
of art the mall owners have dumped near the foodcourt? While I
still think it's tacky, I can see why someone might want to tape
their wedding, but what golden memories must be preserved in a mall?
"Oh look darling, there we are in front of Le Chateau, and there's
Music World off to the side! Remember how they had Meatloaf albums
in the discount bin for $6.99? Good times."
Is the sort of thing you go home and watch later, over and over?
Wouldn't you rather rent a few movies instead? Please don't inflict
this sort of thing on your guests. Picture albums are bad enough.
You will you bore your guest into the sweet caress of oblivion. And
what if you're doing things like video taping little Johnny on the
potty, then showing his girlfriend 16 years later? I promise you
Johnny will drop you in a nursing home that regularly fails standard
inspections at the first available opportunity.
I used to stand respectfully to the side or go around while idiots
filmed themselves in public. Now I just march right on through.
I've mentioned this before, but I do not believe that buying
something expensive such as a car or nice compact Sony minicam
entitles you to monopolize the public domain. So if your car alarm
thinks I'm standing too close or making too much noise, or if my
desire to go from point A to B ruins your shot of your mutant family
in front of Radio Shack, too fucking bad. You'll just have to wait
for me to pass if you want to film this somehow magical moment. If
I'm feeling very nice, your film won't capture my middle finger and
my unclad ass.
I think that these people are in their own small way trying to be TV
stars. It's sad really. TV isn't the source of many great things
when the professionals are cranking it out, so what the amateurs are
putting out is nothing short of video pee-pee. Although, in the
future, the existence of idiots will be well documented, thanks
largely to their own filming habits. People who have video cameras
think nothing of pointing one at themselves and pressing Record
while doing the most stupid things.
What's even more mysterious, but perhaps encouraging, is the desire
of people engaged in some kind of criminal activity to tape
themselves. Quite recently, it's come to light that when you join a
military outfit in North America, they make sure you won't be afraid
of torture from the enemy by making sure they torture you as much as
possible themselves in an initiation process known as "hazing." In
order to welcome you to a unit or regiment, they insert irregular
shaped items in your anus, rip your nipples off and then light you
on fire, all to say "welcome aboard!" I shudder to think what a
dishonorable discharge involves.
This process of hazing has been going on for many years. It was one
of those every-body-knows-nobody-said-anything kind of situations.
It would have probably continued to go on for years without comment,
but then some genius started videotaping them. Video tapes go to
the press, voila, scandal. It was a touch difficult to cover up,
what with actual video footage willingly taken by the perpetrators
and all.
This to me is the most mysterious aspect of this obsession with
getting your ugly mug videotaped. Okay, you want to tape family
gatherings, Hershel's Bar Mitzvah, fine. While such things when
viewed will bore other people to death, at least the activities are
legal. It's not a crime to bore someone, otherwise authors like
Thomas Hardy would have spent their lives in prison.
The trend nowadays though is to videotape yourself breaking the law,
or doing something you don't want others to know about. The hazing
thing is a prime example. But we've also got things like people
committing assault on somebody and bringing along a buddy to
videotape it. Drug users taping their parties. I don't want my
face on camera at the best of times, never mind when I'm doing
something I don't want mom to know about. Perhaps I shouldn't
complain though, as it makes prosecuting these kinds of people much
easier. Others would concur with me:
http://www.jsonline.com/news/wauk/dec99/video22122199a.asp
You know, it's not that the kids drank and groped each other. It's
that they lacked the brains to keep it off videotape. If this is
what future breeds of criminals are going to be like, we can relax
the level of police training a bit. It's not like you need Sherlock
Holmes to unravel this case.
No mention of vidiocy would be complete without sex. Some couples
enjoy filming themselves while in the act. Personally I'm all for
kinky sex, but I'm also all for discretion. That means making sure
that video tape isn't seen by anyone else. Oh, and be sure the
person you're with at the time is trustworthy, and isn't libel to
turn it into a handy downloadable .avi for the Internet.
Perhaps the most famous example of this is Tommy Lee and Pamela Lee
Anderson (or just Pamela Anderson, depending on whether or not she's
still married to him this week). What two people want to do in the
bedroom is nobody else's business, but they should have been taking
precautions to make sure that's where it stayed. Apparently the
video was stolen by someone who was renovating the house, which
tells me they didn't have it locked away safely. Sadly, this
marriage has produced offspring. The odds of the child someday
curing cancer seem unlikely, given the parenting.
At least the video was taken during one of the brief windows when
Lee and Anderson were married to each other. Actor Rob Lowe had the
ill grace to video tape himself with two women.at least one of whom
was underage. Here we get back to the illegal thing again. Never
video tape something you won't want a judge to see.
Oh yeah--alcohol and video camera--big mistake. Enough said.
Sigh. This rant shall now run out of steam as I realize I am guilty
of this very behavior. Not to the same extent as some of these
other yahoos, but I am suddenly reminded of one trip to a friend's
cottage that had us re-enacting the kill-the-pig dance scene from
Lord of the Flies. Well, at least my indiscretion wasn't illegal,
plus it was fairly literary to boot.
All the same, I hope Michelle destroyed the tape.
---
Jason MacIsaac is like a circle in a spiral, like wheel within a
wheel. Never ending nor beginning on an ever-spinning reel. Just
like a snowball down a mountain or a carnival balloon, or like a
carousel that's turning, running rings around the moon.
-------------------------------------------
3. Roommates: Identifying the Species
By Mark Driver
Let's face it, living with other people sucks. Other people's filth,
other people's clothes, other people's friends, and other people's
food in the refrigerator. Unfortunately the economic realities of
most of us keep that constant, unwanted companion across the hall.
I, like most people, have had my fair share of roommates, most of
them good, some of them bad, a few of them unbearable, but I can't
exactly say that I'm a joy to live with either (put me somewhere in-
between The Slob and The Sketcher). But, in my ever vigilant attempt
to elevate the human race past the status of dung beetle, I have set
forth a classification system of roommates to help identify possible
trouble spots and keep life moving smoothly. While I may have not
nailed everyone, I think I got most of you bastards. Feel free to
mail me with anyone I might have left out.
The Athlete
The Athlete lives to exercise. Jogging, rollerblading, gym
membership, and intramural sports are dead giveaways to this
species. Often assumes that hours spent at rowing machine somehow
translates into life experience that boosts them above people of
normal activity level. If you can handle jabs to your undefined
pectorals and constant nagging requests to accompany them on their
path to self-betterment, you should do just fine.
The Neat Freak
The Neat Freak demands a sense of order and cleanliness above and
beyond the call to sanity. Spends most free time dusting, polishing
silverware, and talking about you behind your back to her other neat
friends. Usually in bed before 11:00 and up around 6:00, The Neat
Freak can be a constant source of entertaining anecdotes, and can be
baited into insanity embarrassingly easily with used condoms and
misplaced chicken bones. The Neat Freak should live alone, so
approach with caution.
The Schizophrenic Cleaner
Not to be confused with the Neat Freak, The Schizophrenic Cleaner is
a slob 90% of the time, but during that other 10% (usually on Sunday
afternoons), the Schizophrenic Cleaner becomes the most unbearable
roommate known to science and attempts to clean two months of filth
in two hours. Often this is accompanied by scathing diatribes
against all other roommates in the house whose only crimes are that
they aren't overcome by sanitary mania at the exact same time. This
attribute is common to many other species.
The Dealer
Pros: Pays the rent, has a nice TV with matching Playstation, and
has plenty of drugs. Cons: Sketchy people stopping by at 3 in the
morning, bullets coming through the window, and the occasional
police raid. The Dealer is usually a nice enough person, and as long
as their trade isn't much more than pot and shrooms (with the
occasional shipment of coke) you should be OK, especially if you
live in a college town. Avoid sharing a bedroom, as it sucks to
spend 5 to 20 in lock-up when someone else is making the bucks.
The Professional
The Professional is in their mid 20's going on late 50's, and a good
roommate for no other reason than the fact that they're never home.
Back from work late, out of bed early, the only time you might cross
paths is on the weekend, when they're usually busy trying to make up
for not having a life by drinking hard, doing laundry, and paying
the bills. The Professional is an especially good roommate if you
have a bullshit job, because it lets you justify your lack of cash
with 'at least I'm not him.'
The Stoner
Say goodbye to the couch, because once The Stoner moves it, you're
never gonna be able to sit on it again. The Stoner is the opposite
of The Professional; where The Professional is never home, The
Stoner never leaves, living out an entire existence between the TV,
the bathroom, and the front door to get the daily pizza delivery. Be
especially careful of The Social Stoner, who will have lots of
boring stoner friends come over never leave your house either except
to visit The Dealer, when they become uncharacteristically mobile.
The Vegan
Perhaps the most entertaining of all roommates is The Vegan. If The
Vegan has a good sense of humor, a lively rapport with plenty of
good fun thrown both ways can be established. "Hey, how can you live
on twigs and leaves?" answered by The Vegan with phrases like "hey,
I saw a cute dog running around outside, why don't you chase it down
and barbecue it?" On the other hand, if The Vegan is completely
without humor, treats a diet like a religion, and constantly
preaches at you, your house becomes more repressive than a 24-hour
Southern Baptist church, and you should move in with someone less
dogmatic, like a member of the IRA.
The Mystic Spiritualist
The Spiritualist knows something that you don't. The Spiritualist
understands the world, the planets, the universe, and what you're
doing wrong. Not quite a hippy or a stoner, The Spiritualist lines
her room with books of Eastern philosophy (which she diligently
skims once before forever resting on her bookshelf), hangs Indian
printed cloths from the ceiling, and burns incense constantly. The
Spiritualist assumes she is wise simply because she aligns herself
with something other than the Western world, and will decry Western
thinking with a Marlboro in one hand and a bottle of Jagrmeister in
the other. Be prepared to smile and nod a lot, and have a plan to
dispose of the body when you snap and strangle her.
The Loner
No one knows what The Loner does, and it's probably for the best. If
The Loner could afford to live by himself, he would. The fact that
he can't is bad news for you. On the surface, a relationship with
The Loner is great. He stays in his room, he doesn't talk to you,
and he even schedules his daily activities so he doesn't have to
interact with you. Bad news is this guy probably has a 9mm
collection and has already dug a shallow grave with your name on it.
The New Alcoholic
The years of living in a repressive family situation are suddenly
over when The New Alcoholic leaves home. Yes, it's time to break
loose and go crazy, and what better way to exercise command over
your life than to stay stinking drunk all the time? Sports bars,
happy hours, Long Island Ice Tea Night, whatever - there's always an
excuse to drink! Expect late night 'come pick me up' phone calls,
3am 'Wooooo!'s, bar detritus of the opposite sex spending the night,
and the occasional renting of a carpet shampooer to clean all the
puke stains. While initially a lot of fun, the New Alcoholic suffers
under the delusion that it's necessary to drink after 3:30 in the
morning, and thus loses and initial charm.
The Leech
The Leech doesn't really like you, she just doesn't have anything to
do herself, and will therefore follow you wherever you go, and make
fun of it. The Leech hears you are going to a movie and invites
herself along, talking loudly about how stupid the movie is. The
Leech hears you are going to a party and follows you there, ripping
on the house, the drinks, and how much cooler the people are in the
city where she grew up. It never really dawns on The Leech that the
reason she has nothing going on for herself is that she sucks to
hang out with, and she probably doesn't care, she's too busy making
fun of your date, your clothes, your teeth, and your hair.
The Borrower
While not exactly poor, The Borrower never really seems to buy
anything for himself. It would seem he is unaware that items such as
toothpaste, shampoo, coffee, and sweatshirts are actually available
for purchase at various stores, which he could probably borrow your
car to visit. To The Borrower, nothing is off limits for borrowing,
including prescription medicine, underwear, Chapstick, or
toothbrushes.
The Cheapskate
Paying bills is stressful no matter how close you are with your
roommate, and The Cheapskate doesn't make it any easier. Expect to
hear phrases like "You're home more often than I am, so you should
pay more of the heating bill" and "Can I have 35 cents for that
cream cheese you took from me this morning?" And don't ever lend
money to The Cheapskate, because you'll never get it back. Instead,
you'll be reminded of the ride to the airport they gave you in
Spring of 1995, the time you called the house collect, or how your
sister used a bunch of water when she visited.
The Copy Cat
The Copy Cat respects you and your ways, so much, in fact, that she
will slowly become you over the months of living together. First
it's the clothes, and then the hair. Pretty soon it's the music, the
way you talk, your friends, your eating habits, every aspect of your
personality. Flattering for about 10 minutes, annoying forever, if
The Copy Cat is not cut off right away, she will end up living
across the street from your eventual family.
The Sketcher
The Sketcher seems nice enough, but you never really trust him. He's
the kind of person to steal your beer and hit on your girlfriend,
yet still occasionally do something nice, like pick you up during a
rainstorm, and make it hard to 100% hate him. Usually possessing a
decent sense of humor and generally cool, The Sketcher is most
likely to borrow half your wardrobe and move across the country,
sticking you with the lease and a $400 phone bill. The Sketcher
isn't really a bad person, just one who is totally out for himself,
which rarely bodes well for you.
The Piece of Shit
You know the Piece of Shit, she's the one you let move in as a favor
to a friend. She does stolen cocaine on your coffee table, needs to
get picked up from fucked up places at 4 in the morning, steals your
shit, and has a parade of Piece of Shit friends who also enjoy
rifling through your shit. She runs up phone bills, drinks
everything in the house, makes a mess, doesn't pay rent, and bitches
about everything else. Get her arrested as soon as possible, and for
God's sake, don't ever sleep with her, you'll never get rid of her
then.
The Dresser Bible
The Dresser Bible seems totally normal. He is responsible, well
mannered, neat, and always in generally good spirits. You may
actually start to like the guy. And then, after a few months, it
happens - he busts out the Bible he keeps in the top drawer of his
dresser and begins to start his sentences with words like "You know
what Jesus says". Your friendship suddenly becomes a truce, as he
promises to keep the Good News to a minimum, and you agree to stop
slaughtering goats in the living room.
The Touchy Feely
The Touchy Feely is the nicest person you'll ever meet. She'll
always have an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on, and be a friend
to depend on. She'll make you a healthy vegetarian dinner and give
you a friendly back massage afterward. She'll always smile, let you
borrow anything, and doesn't mind cleaning the entire house daily.
She takes detailed phone messages, is nice to all your friends, and
feeds your cat while you're on vacation. None of this changes the
fact that she's creepier than a bathroom stall at a NAMBLA meeting.
Beware of someone who never stops smiling.
The Poor Guy
The Poor Guy means well, but he's, well, poor. More likely he's just
really bad with money, spending his meager paychecks on dope and
good beer, crippling his budget for the rest of the month. The Poor
Guy rarely leaves home, because he can't afford to. The Poor Guy
usually has very good puppy dog eyes, and is rarely expected to chip
in on generic household expenses like toilet paper, dish soap, and
the electric bill. The Poor Guy doesn't mind sleeping on the couch
for a reduction in rent, will follow you to any subsequent
apartments, and isn't above taking handouts. Nothing like having
your own, personal panhandler.
Squeaky Clean
Squeaky Clean lives in a general state of bemused shock, shock
mostly aimed at you. Squeaky Clean lives a life that is beyond
reproach, and won't hesitate to smilingly comment about your
drinking habits, your cleanliness, your table manners, your choice
of dates, your music, your friends, and anything else that is
slightly off the Squeaky Clean Path. Squeaky Clean has fallen under
the misbelief that there is one correct and proper way to go through
life, their way, and attacks whatever doesn't support their
generally dull and uneventful lifestyle. They do, however, always
pay their share of the rent.
The Slob
Anyone seen my leftover pizza? Oh, there it is, underneath your
jacket. I've been meaning to clean those steak bones out of the
sink. Damn, is that my underwear? You guys have any idea how to get
the smell of rotten milk out of shoes? I'm sorry my dog shit on your
bed, I'll clean it up after I fix the shower drain I clogged while
shaving last week. Wow, this beer has been open for a week and it
still tastes good. If you wear a shirt long enough, the stains go
away by themselves. Sound familiar?
Daddy's Favorite
Yes, there is something wrong with giving your kids too much
attention, they become unbearable for the rest of us to deal with.
Always well bankrolled, Daddy's Favorite expects to take the place
of Most Important in your house, just like they had it growing up.
The good news is if any problems arise with your residence, Daddy is
just a phone call away and ready to save his little angel. The bad
news is you have to deal with this little brat all the rest of the
time. Daddy's Favorite has little concept of money, as unseen hands
have always paid all the bills. This means Daddy's Favorite will
assume you'll take care of them to a certain extent, even though you
have 1/10 the money. Expect visits from parents at least once a
month.
The Player
The good news is you'll meet a lot of eligible lovers, the bad news
is they'll all be the used goods of your roommate. While The Player
thinks he's racking up the stud points, you'll be sitting through
the same dumb stories, the same cheezy lines, and the same ritual of
sexual conquest that screams desperation at volumes hyper-audible to
everyone but the dumbest deaf. Don't even try to learn the name of
the Flavor-of-the-Hour because it doesn't matter. Buy some anti-
bacterial Lysol for the bathroom, keep your toothbrush, bath towels,
and razor locked in your room, maintain a strict 'no drinking out of
the container' rule, and lastly, buy some earplugs to drown out the
unnecessarily loud pathetic fucking grunts.
Like I said, this list is for the generations to come, so let me
know if I left you out. Give me reasons why you suck as a roommate,
a) so I can complete my list of bad people and b) so I never
accidentally move in with you.
---
Stolen with permission from http://www.blindwino.com
"World's a party horse and it needs some fucking" - Mark Driver
-------------------------------------------
4. Love Cats
(Inspired by a true story)
By Jeff Wright
INT. A SMALL HOUSE. DAY.
An elderly WOMAN puts on a shawl, and heads for her front door.
Woman
Bye Chester.
CU of CHESTER, her cat.
Woman
Bye Felix.
CU of FELIX, another cat.
The woman continues to name off about twenty more cat names. She
then leaves.
EXT. WOMAN'S FRONT PORCH. DAY.
A cat walks up to her leg and rubs up against her.
Woman
Hello Georgie. Why aren't you inside? Well mommy's going to
get some food, and I'll be back in a couple hours or so.
She walks out and waits on the curb for her GRANDSON. Her grandson
arrives, and she gets into his car..
EXT. SUPERMARKET. DAY.
The woman and her grandson get out and go into...
INT. SUPERMARKET. DAY.
They go and get a buggy. The grandson follows her off into the cat
food aisle. She begins to grab two cans at a time of canned cat
food. She then hands them to her grandson to put them in the buggy.
They do about ten repetitions of this until she stops. The grandson
looks relieved. But then she goes and starts grabbing cans of a
different brand. This goes on for about the same amount of time.
It's minutes to us, but it seems like an eternity to the grandson.
A LARGE MAN walks down the aisle, and looks into the buggy.
Large Man
Gonna' have good sandwiches tonight eh?
Grandson (confused)
Uh, yeah.
He looks at the large man as he walks away.
Grandson (Under his breath)
What the fuck was that?
His grandmother, oblivious to all that just happened, nudges the
grandson to get him to grab the cans of cat food in her hands.
Woman
James. Pay attention.
JAMES turns around and continues to grab the cans that are passed to
him. The woman stops grabbing cans and points to a bag of dry food.
Woman
Get me that bag dear.
James bends down and reaches for a bag of cat food.
Woman
Not that one, the other one. That one there.
James
What's the difference Grandma?
Woman
Fluffy, Leroy, Steven, Bobby and Eliza all like that one
better.
James
Okay.
James gets the right food, and puts it under the buggy.
Woman
Lets go and get this rung through. I have to hurry back
home to see Matlock.
James
Don't you need any food Grandma?
Woman
Oh yeah. I just need a couple things.
They walk off to the juice section.
Woman
I need some apple juice, and I need some fruit punch.
The woman gets them and puts them in her cart. They continue into
the meat section, and she grabs a package of bologna, and a package
of bacon.
Woman
Okay, lets go.
James
That's all you're gonna eat Grandma?
Woman
Yes. I have some stuff at home.
INT. WOMAN'S FRIDGE. DAY.
The fridge's door opens by itself to show that it's almost
completely empty.
INT. SUPERMARKET. DAY.
James
Okay.
They go to the check out and the woman starts putting the stuff on
the counter.
James
Grandma, I'm just going to get some fresh air. Are you
going to be okay?
Woman
Yes, don't worry.
The CASHIER begins to ring it up. James walks outside, embarrassed
beyond belief and lights up a cigarette. Back at the check out, the
woman is still putting the cans on the counter and the cashier is
still ringing them up.
CU of a clock, the hands spin around quickly to ten minutes later.
Back at the check out, the cashier rings through the final can of
cat food.
Cashier
That'll be...
The woman reaches into her purse.
Woman
I have coupons for the special mix cat food.
We zoom into a CU of the cashier's face. Cut to a MS of the
cashier. She pulls out a gun, puts it under her chin and pulls the
trigger.
CUT TO:
The same CU of the cashier that we had before we cut to the MS.
Cashier
Okay mam. How much is it for?
Woman
Five cents off each can.
Cashier
Okay. Well you have fifteen cans of it, so I'll just take
seventy-five cents off of your bill.
Woman
But what about the taxes?
Cashier
Mam, to do that, I need to ring everything up again.
Woman
Oh, never mind then. I don't have the time to wait for
that. You should be able to do it faster than that.
Cashier
I know, but we can't. So it's okay if I just leave the tax.
Woman
Yes.
EXT. SUPERMARKET. DAY.
The woman walks out without any bags.
James
Grandma, where's your stuff?
Woman
I'm having it delivered. I can't wait for them to bag it.
They take forever. They should have to past a speed test
before they get that job. You wait forever.
James
We can just wait for a couple more minutes.
Woman
No we can't, Matlock is on in precisely thirty-seven minutes.
It's a continuation of yesterday's, and I can't miss it.
Alexis wants me to tell her what happens, because she has a hair
appointment this afternoon. And put out that cigarette.
James puts out his butt.
James
Okay. Lets go.
They get into James' car.
INT. WOMAN'S HOUSE. DAY.
The woman is sitting on her couch and a petting one of her cats.
She turns on the television, and Matlock is on.
INT. SUPERMARKET. DAY.
The bag boy is still bagging the woman's cat food.
INT. JAMES' CAR. DAY.
James is driving home, and turns on the radio. "Love Cats" by The
Cure comes on.
FADE TO BLACK.
---
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