Kick the S-Man for me, would ya?

Ya'll.

I am so all about you, my faithful readers.

Wherever I go. Whatever I do. I'm thinking of you guys.

Always.

And so, tonight, when The S-Man, David, and I walked thru those familiar wooshing doors at the Southside Walmart and saw, to our wondering eyes, what had to be the worst, the most amazing looking crack ho in the tri-state area, and maybe MAYBE EVEN the lower forty-eight (and I am so not kidding). I immediately choked back a sob as we passed, all six of our bugged out eyes riveted on the sight:

ME
(chanting in a whisper)
Good Lord. I don't have my camera. I don't. Havemycamera. I don't...

David
Ohmygod.

SATAN
Did you SEE that?

CRACK HO
(Talking nonchalantly to the geriatric Walmart greeter.)

ME
(in a hissing whisper)
David! Do you have a camera phone?

DAVID
(hissing back)
NO....remember, mine is broken! Ohmygod, I can'tbelieve...

ME
This can't be happening to me.

SATAN
Why do you need...

ME
I HAVE TO BLOG THIS. I HAVE TO. Get out your camera phone. NOW.

SATAN
You can't post a picture of that! Look at her! If she finds you, she'll kill you!

ME
(as we round the corner out of eye shot of the crack-ho)
This is a post worth dying for, I tell you! Look again, man, for the LOVEOFGOD! My hit counter will spin like a TACOMETER you get a shot of that! There's a freaking foot of butt cleavage hanging out of those shorts!

DAVID
Did you even see her stomach?

ME
(beginning to sniffle pathetically to Satan)
I'm telling you, if you ever loved me EVEN A LITTLE...

DAVID
(peeping back around the the fresh flower case)
It's collapsed her...stomach has COLLAPSED like a deflated ballon...it's actually...it's...hanging down lower than HER SHORTS...

SATAN
You can just describe her.

ME
You can't DESCRIBE a thing like that! You gotta get the money shot!

DAVID
It's not a stomach, it's a SKIN APRON.

ME
Yes! YES I KNOW! It's wearing a midriff top, low rise shorts, a naked skin apron, and is displaying three fouths of an ass crack so long that it actually starts at WHAT I THINK MIGHT BE HER WAIST no less, and now, NOW, this very NIGHT, my satanic husband picks this moment to morph into BillyFreakin'Graham.

DAVID
(still peeping and talking in a stage whisper)
I'd say she's, what? Eighty percent naked?

ME
(To Satan.)
Okay! Okay. I won't post her face. I wouldn't anyway. I would never, EVER consider it, okay? Of course not. Not me! Just get her from the back. FROM THE BACK! That's all I'm askin'...

SATAN
(Pointing down another aisle toward the garden center.)

ME
(I glance down the aisle. Two identically sized 4-X short-bus heifers with bowl cuts peer lovingly into each other's eyes.)

What is this, Misfit Wednesday?

(As if on cue, just as I utter those words, what looks like an escaped stiff-legged zombie from Night of the Living Dead lurches past us with a cart.)

(Satan and I stare at each other incredulously.)

DAVID
(Still peeping)
Hey, guys! It's on the move!

All Three of Us
(Now peeping together.)
(Watch as the Crack Ho, who incidentally, not that it really matters much in the scheme of things, is also NOT wearing shoes, saunters over to Customer Service pretty-as-you-please.)

DAVID
Is that a..what..a scar would you say?

ME
(To Satan.)
I'm giving you one last chance...

SATAN
No.

ME
I swear to God? You're dead to me.