Busy few weeks. Need some time off. Recuperate back to peak crime-fighting condition. Acquire nachos.
Head to grocery store. Wednesday morning. Snivelling brats are in school. Soulless corporate zombies are at work. Only the elderly stand between LOLSCHACH and free reign of the super market.
Sight liver-spotted codger hobbling slowly-but-surely toward the store's single motorized shopping cart. Must get there before he does. Motorized shopping carts are entertaining to operate. Sprint. Shove senile old man to the ground. Pile into cart and hit ignition switch. Old man is screaming at me from the floor, "Dang-blast it you damn punk!" Tell him to go crawl in a coffin and die. Grab his cane and drive off with it. He'll never catch me, now.
First stop: Cereal Aisle. No store seems to carry Quisp anymore. Disappointing. Continue browsing. Stumble across unanticipated horror nestled between Honeycomb and Cocoa Krispies.
Damn Veidt. Selling LOLSCHACH's likeness. Hate him. Lose appetite for sugary, nutritionless corn-puffed styrafoam. Decide to just fill bowl with Betty Crocker fruit snacks and receive 700% of daily vitamin C requirement. Perhaps top it off with a bottle or two of Flintstones chewable vitamins.
Remainder of shopping experience uneventful. Make it home in time for banjo practice. No one must ever know.
Oooh I'd like to hear LOLSCHACH music. :)
ReplyDeleteIncreasingly loving this blog. Man, if Rorshach had kept a blog instead of a paper journal, veidt would had to have bought Blogger, he, he'd have to have...
ReplyDelete...oh God.