The Bouncy of Bouncies: "My grocery store smackdown."
OK, gang, I'm going to do a DUbble-DUFU today, just simply because this may be the Best Bouncy of All Time, and I want to post it in case it gets flushed down the Memory Hole. You remember what a "Bouncy" is, don't you? It is a (supposedly) real-life experience posted by a DUmmie, in which the DUmmie bravely stands up to a rethuglican, confronting and/or converting the rethug, usually at a family gathering or a retail store, the posting of which is followed by lots of "Attaboys!" and "You're my hero!" Of course, these bouncies are highly "embellished" at best, if not completely fictitious. The gullible DUmmies fall for them, though, and the bouncies make for some of our favorite DUFUs.
Well, lo and behold, one of the DUmmies has now posted the Mother of All Bouncies. It is SOOO over the top, with just about every single element of your typical bouncy in it, that it just HAS to be satire! It is posted by DUmmie Dreamer Tatum, who is not a noob--over 1000 posts--but either is having FUn with his fellow DUmmies or is a . . . LOUSY FREEPER TROLL! We find this Bouncy of Bouncies here in this THREAD, "My grocery store smackdown."
DUmmie Dreamer Tatum has out-DUFUed the DUFUs! And so I will post his OP in its entirety, followed by a few comments by the other DUmmies--some of whom smoked out the satire and enjoyed it, while others took umbrage at being mocked. Follow the comments in Bouncy Ballshevik Red, while the commentary of your humble guest correspondent, Charles Henrickson, still LOLing, is in the [brackets]:
My grocery store smackdown.
So, I needed a couple of breakfast items, and I live in the reddest part of the reddest city in the reddest state in the United States. I mean, it's nothing but McMansions, giant trucks, an late-model German sedans where I live, all with vile bumperstickers, Truck Nutz, and everything you'd expect from a culture that values gain over everything and everyone else. I would move, of course, but then they would win, and I have to stay here. I have to stay to stick it to them.
Myself, I drive a paid-off 2005 Prius, and I used to get intimidated in traffic all the time. That was until it dawned on me that all the truck drivers were compensating for incredibly small penises. When one of them cuts me off in traffic, which is to say, ALL the time, I just hold up my thumb and forefinger about a quarter inch apart so they can see it in their rear-view mirrors. I can't tell you the number of trucks that pull over immediately when I do that. They know exactly what I'm referring to, and it shames them every time.
Anyway, I need some tofu and wheat germ for my usual breakfast, so I walk into the store at about seven AM. It's packed full of people headed to work. Ordinarily, I'd feel sorry for them, but the volume or giant trucks and German cars in the lot just made me feel glad that I work from home as a consultant to businesses that generate green, sustainable energy from composted hemp and edamame husks. While I walked to the cooler where the tofu is kept, I noticed a long line of angry-looking people at the donut counter. They were mostly fat and baggy-faced, almost demanding that their donuts be boxed immediately so they could get on the road and cut off other people while they waited for Rush Limbaugh to come on. I chuckled and thought, 'enjoy your donuts, along with the diabetes and colon cancer, you freeptards. You don't even want single-payer, you idiots.'
The checkout line was long. Even though there are always a lot of people in that store, they never have enough checkstands open. This is probably because the store manager wants to save payroll so he gets a bigger bonus, because I know he sees all the expensive cars in his lot and it kills him. I'll never forget the time I overheard him tell a stocker that he needed to clock out before he hit overtime, but that didn't mean he could go home, because the beer cooler needed to be stocked before the football game the next day. Then he told the kid, "And if I hear that union bullshit from you one more time, you're fired."
Anyway, I'm standing behind this behemoth guy with a giant tattoo on his bicep that I can't make out. He's a typical suburban rethuglican: tall and fat, with enormous love handles. As he turned slightly, I was not surprised to see that his tattoo was of a giant Ayn Rand. Seriously: an Ayn Rand tattoo. There is a RW tattoo parlor here that advertises them on hate radio, and it's the latest thing in rethug fashion. Behind me, meanwhile, is a guy in a knockoff Zegna suit and fake Chanel sunglasses (I know knockoffs when I see them, even though I pretty much make all of my own clothes from hemp. When you make your own stuff, you can spot fakes easily.) I noticed also that the guy in front of me has his keys on a belt clip, and of course there is a giant clump of padlock keys next to a Ford key. He also has a keychain fob that I can make out as a long quote from Milton Friedman, which I'm sure this dickhead thinks is just the greatest thing since sliced bread.
Anyway, the guy in front of us trying to pay is an immigrant worker from Mexico. I know this because some mornings I sit outside the store with him as he waits for some of the assholes in giant trucks to offer him a day's labor. My Spanish is just a little shaky, but I can understand it pretty well from the downloads I get of Caracas news stations. His name is Isidro, and he's even given me a nickname: Ben Dayho. I don't know if there's a sidekick from Mexican folk tales named Ben Dayho, or what, but I like it, and he lights up whenever I walk up to him and say, "Hola, Isidro! Es mi, Ben Dayho!" Seems to make his day, which is the least I can do.
Isidro is buying an agua fresca, which is a fruit drink, and an apple. Or at least he's trying to buy it, because there is some confusion at the register. The whole thing usually costs a dollar even, and Isidro is trying to give a crumpled bill to the cashier. But I can see from the register screen (which has a picture-in-picture of Fox News playing, naturally) that the price is now $1.10, and evidently Isidro doesn't understand. The cashier, who this whole time has been winking at the guy with the Ayn Rand tattoo, keeps yelling, "NO! MAS!" And I see Isidro turning beet red, not knowing what to do, surrounded by all these evil people leering at him. The irony is that besides me, Isidro has the most healthful purchase...everyone else has what I call Freeper Chow: donuts, sugared sodas, even beer.
I excuse myself and attempt to give Isidro the extra dime so we can all get going, but before I can, the massive truck-driving asshole in front of me says, "Whoa, son. See this tattoo? She says we shouldn't be helping each other. This meskin guy is on his own. And he should be - he looks illegal as hell to me, anyway." The cashier winked at the guy again, and my blood started a fast boil. The guy behind me pretty much put the icing on the cake when he said, "You guys are holding up the line. Do you know how much money I make? If you can't afford whatever it is you're trying to buy, just put it down and be satisfied with whatever you stuffed into your pants anyway. I work at Goldman Sachs. Won't be long before we own this store, but for now, hurry the f*ck up. My bonus is on the line, and that Benz out there ain't free. But you'll never know that." He jingled his keys as though he was making his point even more.
I cleared my throat with a loud AHEM and said, "Let me tell you something. Your savior may be Ayn Rand, but I doubt you're capable of reading page one of that republican wet dream rag, and that's saying something, because it would take a thousand Rands to equal one Gabriel Garcia Marquez on his WORST day. (I used Marquez because I thought Isidro might recognize the name, him being Mexican and all, and I wanted to be sure that I picked a Nobel Prize winner. My other choice was Gunther Grass, but that might have been too symbolic for the freeper and the cashier.) And as for not helping, well, that attitude is what got us where we are now as a country, not to mention thieves like you (I said that as I turned on my heel and pointed to the guy behind me.). As for you ' - I pointed at the cashier - 'you should be looking out for guys like him. Since you aren't unionized, thanks to your manager here, you're one missing dollar short of sitting on that same sidewalk outside. That's how things are these days. And none of this is sustainable. We're losing rainforest. The seas are rising. Ice caps are melting. Bank of America is foreclosing on people who haven't been born yet. Education has been slashed to the degree that students use gum wrappers for textbooks. Our infrastructure is crumbling. There hasn't been a decent movie since V is for Vendetta. And I. Blame. You."
I flipped a dime to Isidro, who caught it in midair and slammed it down on the counter. I dropped the tofu and wheat germ on the floor, kicking off my latest boycott. I looked at the store manager and said, "Don't worry - you'll have your pick of monster trucks soon, because assholes like everyone in this line will be selling theirs soon to make a single house payment. Except Mr. Goldman here: oil is falling, and so will he be, from a tall building, because of his losses."
A slow, faint clapping rose from the back of the line, which gathered into a crescendo of raucous applause. As I walked out, I saw the men on either side of me bow their heads, and the giant freeper clasped his hand over his Ayn Rand tattoo in shame. The Goldman guy had dialed his cell and was clearly describing me to someone on the other line; it would probably get rough later. Not that I'm not accustomed to cracking some Blackwater skulls. As I walked out, Isidro looked up at me with bright, shining eyes and simply said, "Gracias. Gracias, Ben Dayho. Muy Ben Dayho." I have never been so proud as to be given a nickname by a new friend.
I'm writing all of this as I'm waiting for the news truck to show up. As I calmly walked out of the store with my tofu and wheat germ, a woman in sweats ran up from behind me, begging me to wait. When I turned and saw her face, without makeup, I assumed that she was just a victim of domestic violence, ie, the wife of one of the rethugs I'd just left agape in the store. It wouldn't be the first time I helped the battered wife of a truck-driving needledick rethug see a better way in life. It turns out, though, that she was a local news anchor who was just buying some milk. I didn't recognize her because I got rid of my television years ago. She gave me her card and told me she'd witnessed the entire thing, and she wanted to run a story on me one night this week. I told her, "Look, Mindy, there are a million other people in this town that deserve a news story more than me. But I'll do it, if for no other reason than to let people in this town know that the tide is turning." She took her card back from me, turned it over, and wrote a phone number on the back. She said it was her personal cell number, and I should call her sometime. I told her I'd consider it, but only if she dyed her hair a different shade of Fox Anchor Blonde. She winked and said she suddenly realized she needed to go back into the store for something she forgot.
I swear this happened.
[BRAVO!!!!!! LOLOLOLOLOL!!!!!!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!]
meh. No organic drum circles. Sounds fake.
I'm always amazed at how much dialog people remember for postings like this
[It's essential to the genre!]
Thank you. I laughed so hard at this, I had to get up and get a Kleenex for the water running from my eyes. I haven't laughed so hard in a long time.
[A DUmmie with a sense of humor! Good on ya!]
[A DUmmie WITHOUT a sense of humor.]
Locking. Deemed to be a post mocking another DU post.
[Locking. Mocking. But THANK YOU, DUmmie Dreamer Tatum, for this ROCKING Bouncy!]