Season's Greetings...right...
So it's Christmas 2004, a time to give, a time to rejoice, a time to take no prisoners.
I enter the mall and am immediately surrounded by a throng of tiny human beings, running erratically and waving green bags while larger human beings chase after them yelling "Billy don't break grandma's blender." I do not know the woman, but already, I feel sorry for grandma.
I have no time to continue thinking about grandma's plight however, as I am forced to sidestep the child that has ripped itself from it's mother's grasp and is now racing towards my left flank, emitting a high pitched noise and waving around a 4 inch likeness of what looks like Charlton Heston. From your cold dead hands, indeed.
I decipher my way through the human mine field known as the food court, pausing briefly to eye a man who is attempting to explain why, despite the lack of a happy meal or a joyous corporate pawn, a place called Joe's Grille is just as appetizing as McDonalds. I briefly consider saying something, but decide against it. This man is already dead.
(On a side note, when did the word "grill" start being spelled "grille?" I'm seeing it everywhere now and it's really bothering me.)
As I enter my the first store of the day, I hear the sound of an explosion in front of Joe's Grille. The poor bastard just had to push the child. I look around and plunge into the maze of products. It is 10 AM.
Forgive me Lord, I know not what I do...