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What Really Sandpapers My Balls – 2nd Ed.

I’m certain you are all waiting in breathless anticipation for some Ranty® screed about Thanksgiving that will shame, highlight or compliment the other great writers here on LAP. Sorry – you’re not getting that. Overall, Thanksgiving is only slightly notched below the 4th of July for my personal favorite holiday. Besides, Howard made sure my holiday post for December came after the Gorge-a-Thon but too early to bitchslap Christmas.

I can say that my pre-holiday shopping did teach me two lessons. The first of which is this: DO NOT SHOP FOR FOOD ON THE WEEKEND BEFORE THANKSGIVING. Unless you enjoy walking at 1.3 mph behind herds of people fanatically grabbing every can of cranberry sauce and chicken stock, just starve for a week. It makes the special day that much more awesome anyway.

So the second lesson I learned is: I AM GOD’S PERSONAL CHEW TOY. How do I know this? I again reference the entire hour I spent buying twelve items at the Commissary. Twelve, and yes, an hour in the building alone. You might wonder why, and I might be inclined to entertain that question.

The day already sucked – I was dehydrated from my weekend beer tasting and the temperature held below freezing for two days. Nonetheless, I collected my wallet, phone, list and lucky human ear and went to obtain food. God, as I hinted, had other plans. His instrument of torture came in the form of a guy I named Mr. Blocki… Mr. Pennis C. Blocki, probably going by his middle name Cocky.

The first insult to my patience was in the produce section. Blocki stood there fondling the Fuji apples (my favorite and a diet staple). Undeterred, I collected the other vegetation I’d toss into my hole. Blocki remained there, ass-raping the entire Fuji apple pile. Every single apple got touched, squeezed and inspected. Did I mention it was in slow motion? I needed about ten apples, and feared none would be left. Pennis effectively ratfucked the pile and walked away with five bags. I wished over-fibered Hershey squirts on him and quickly did my own ratfucking for my apples. I am quick and polite, however, and I never make my apple selection appear sexual.

Next encounter: I needed another shaker of seasoned pepper. In the spice aisle, I spied the one remaining pepper. Who else would be standing there, slowly reading the glass jars of spices to find the one he needed? No, not Howard. It was Mr. Cocky Blocki, of course. I wanted to reach past him and snatch my prize, but he stood so close as he read that I’d be forced to contact his junk area. I was prepared to deliver a death punch there, but not anything resembling a caress after observing his apple selection. Instead I ground my teeth because even a hump as stupid as I am knows that the spices are arranged alphabetically.

I changed tactics and skipped ahead several aisles, hopefully leaving Blocki behind. My last item is eggs, and of course there’s a half-cooler packed with them. Common etiquette says you should and can check those puppies before you put them in your basket. One might be cracked. I do it, and if you don’t you’re a ‘tard. Today of course, Mr. Blocki sensed my need and had positioned himself in the cooler door. He methodically took out and checked ten packages of eggs. He went so far as to pluck them out – each of the dozen per package – and check the undersides.

Another shopper stood next to me, wanting his rightful turn at the eggs as well. We shared looks of mutual hate for Cock Blocki. Other egg-needers gathered, and I sensed a beating on the horizon. Blocki saved his own life by finally deeming one package to be perfectly perfect enough for his soon-to-be apple-filled colon and walked off with his Burberry-wrapped wife.

Maybe I’m not God’s chew toy, but I’d say I’m at least the squeaky one, or the big rawhide strip. Either way, I’m not amused. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what sandpapered my balls this month.

About BrainRants (31 Articles)
A former career Soldier and hired gun, BrainRants has been angry everywhere. Known for his bubbly personality and ill-formed thoughts, he's elevated swearing to an art form. Famous for being as blunt as a 2x4 straight to the teeth. Bacon lover, beer expert and inventor of new words. Occasionally pens Sci Fi and Military Thrillers.

36 Comments on What Really Sandpapers My Balls – 2nd Ed.

  1. My blood pressure raised20 points reading this. Cock Block is a douche canoe and he is probably ignorant as he77 about it. Nope, don’t ever go grocery shopping the week before Thanksgiving.


  2. Considering Christmas starts in October at the stores, I say it’s never too early to bitch slap Christmas.


  3. NotAPunkRocker // December 6, 2013 at 10:09 am //

    It would have just been that much better if he had been up on you in the checkout line.

    Seriously people, unless you want to put money into my bank account or pay for my purchases, keep the hell away from the card machine when I go to pay.


  4. whiteladyinthehood // December 6, 2013 at 10:46 am //

    I have a love/hate relationship with grocery shopping. I have good store etiquette – I quickly check eggs, fondle the veggies in a non sexual way, know the ABC’s of spices and allow plenty of room for the person in front of me checking out. Other folks that don’t do that are just assholes.


  5. Some people live in their own world. I wish they’d figure out how to permanently move there.


  6. I’ve never seen hectic and stupid shopping like I have since shopping at the commissary. It’s like all the assholes collect and form the very hour we are there and at holiday time everyone is dumbass x10. Also, the day I decide not to put on makeup and run to the commissary is the one day I run in to a half dozen people who recognize me and have to say hello. It’s when having the hair that people spot is a pain in the ass. On the other hand, watching my husband control his rage for an hour at the commissary can be rather comical and a challenge for me to try to lighten his mood during it.


  7. I think I’ve been behind him, his wife, his kids, and his extended family. If their body isn’t in the way, their cart is blocking the aisle. I generally have to yell, “EXCUSE ME. I NEED TO GET THE SALT AND I’LL BE OUT OF YOUR WAY.” I’ve had a few “how rude” or “I didn’t know I was in your way,” For the aisle blockers, I simply move the damned cart out of the way without a big scene.

    When you’re 5’4 1/2 and weigh 107#, the ability to “reach” over/under/around is a hell of a lot easier.

    A long time ago with a (now ex) husband far, far, away, we used to go to the Commissary and found that the weeks during the holidays it was filled with old, slow, people. My ex wasn’t as kind as I. He’d move their basket out of the way with a crash or say, “Get out of the way.” I’m kinder than that.


  8. Please don’t come into my store between now and Christmas. I would hate to be collateral damage. We’re always full of people like your momentary arch-nemesis. Like the lady ahead of me to check out who had to examine all the coupons the store gave her before she’d start bagging at the self-check (you know – the ‘fast’ lane).


  9. I have a funny story, kinda;

    I also learned the hard way this year that going to the store the night before Thanksgiving is not a good idea. It didn’t even dawn on me. But, I had this stockpile of bottles and cans that I’ve been hoarding for months, so I decided to finally knock them all out in one stop – at night of course, because there aren’t that many people there.

    So I went to grocery store expecting to have it all to myself. It looked like a fucking cookie covered in ants. There I am, with an overflowing grocery cart full of stinky-ass bottles and cans, driving it to the back of the store past EVERYBODY. It was a brisk pace I was moving at; casual, yet quickened – maintaining a strong fixed expression as best I could.

    When I got the bottle return area, I started laughing uncontrollably. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. And I think I said something out loud to myself like, “Of all the days, you fucking idiot!”


    • Rest easy: you retained your manhood. You burst a manly rant, which is always good. Plus, you learned = never go on the days before the Turkey Gorge.

      I deal with my recycles in my basement. The broken glass is useful in dealing with the pedophiles and child-abusers I am keeping down here as… uhm, guests.


  10. I am so lucky to be mobility challenged at this point so I don’t have to go grocery shopping anymore! I am surprised you didn’t push your cart right into Mr. Cocki Blocki’s ankles & be damned! As he moves away to yelp you get to reach for your item! You could always pretend it was an accident. Obviously, I’ve never done this before! (TIC)


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