While picking up some bread, clothes, and a car battery at Wal-Mart, I think to myself, "I'm so depressed. My girlfriend just dumped me for my best friend and my company is laying me off as they downsize. My car also needs a new transmission, the roof on my house is leaking, and my computer got a virus that wiped out the hard drive. But
you know what? I'm getting a Wal-Mart high now because at least I'm
not that guy." (pointing to the 75 pound
weasel-faced man with only three teeth in the beer aisle with an unwashed, thin comb-over, wearing a flannel shirt and smelling like BO, with his 500 pound wife sitting in a Rascal next to him wearing a flower-patterned moo moo, with equally unwashed hair, while they show completely no interest in controling their seven maniac children running all over the store)