Saturday, June 6, 2009

The Basket

I was walking in Target the other day searching for a basket to unload the useless junk I was struggling not to drop, into. I wanted to use this useless junk to decorate my room with which include; a letter sorter, 6 cups of ramen, a lava lamp, and a rug decorated with the image of a unicorn.
As I was strolling down the sports aisle, I notice a reddish basket off in the distance. I start walking briskly over to obtain that which I desired. It was my salvation, my blessing, the one thing I always wanted, at least since I got to Target. As I approach my destination an elderly woman is heading in the same direction. She gets there just a few moments before I did. She grabbed it. “How unfortunate” I thought to myself. But then I realized that she wasn’t a she, but a rather obese man with his hair bleached. “Oh Hell No.” I thought. It’s all fine and dandy if an elderly woman takes my basket, but I will not tolerate a tacky obese man. He can just carry his crap.
I slowly approached him to ask for the basket, but something stopped me. I glance at his bicep witch was quite large. There on his arm, was a burgundy tattoo with the word “MOM” in big white letters across it. Normally, society associates that tattoo with drunken brutes. So I thought to myself, that if I asked for the basket he would sock me one and wait outside with his Kawasaki Vulcan Motorcycle and run me over the second I walk out. I decided to lurk in the shadows until he set it down and I would make my move. I set my items down on top of a Hello Kitty play house. And so the lurking began.
After a few tense pulse-pounding seconds, he began to walk towards the frozen food aisle. I follow just far enough behind so that he doesn’t notice me. He turned around almost as if he knew he was being followed. He began skipping. It wasn’t a very merry kind of skipping. It was like he was trying to hard. So I had to increase my pace to keep up. And I had to keep diving behind the different aisles. “Uh oh?” I thought. He must have noticed me. He’s trying to seem more pleasant so I’ll approach him and ask for the basket. He wants to hit me so bad. I can feel it in my brittle pasty white kid bones. He thinks he’s clever. But a plan as simple as that cannot fool me, such impudence.
He turned back around and we made eye contact. I felt a piece of my soul die. I turned and darted away as if I were struck. Woo boy. Those guys with body art signifying their love for their mothers are just terrifying. He began to skip again. Once he arrived in the frozen food aisle, he was eye balling the Breyers low-fat ice cream. “He could stand to drink some slim fast” I thought. He then started to sing some sort of heavy metal song? His skipping increased in speed so I had to follow behind post haste. I would stop at nothing to receive that basket.
He started skipping towards the feminine product aisle, his singing intensifying. He’s a crafty one. He probably thought I wouldn’t go down that aisle, but oh ho he was very wrong. I snuck up on the side of the Aisle eye balling the basket. I notice there wasn’t even anything inside of it! He’s not using it! What a fool. He does not know blessing to hold a basket so divine.
He started skipping very fast this time. I followed him, but as he was approaching the exit he tripped over a senior citizen in a Hover Round. He fell to the ground dropping the basket. I made a run for the basket, and once I grabbed it. I ran for the exit! I had finally received the basket I had so longed for. I had forgotten my decorations, but I did not care. I hadn’t paid for them yet anyway.
A day ago, I was pressing the buttons of my newish Play Station 2as fast as possible, trying to slay that dirty chocobo eater, but it got the best of me and I threw my controller across the room and it landed in that same red basket. That I apparently stole. It was then that I thought of the obese mama’s boy. I realized that he was not in fact skipping. But he was running, running away from me. And he wasn’t singing heavy metal. He was screaming for help. I then thought “That is the last time I smoke marijuana before I go to target.
This is copy righted by me. So don't copy it. Ever. I am DALTON FOSTER.