However, I’m forced to take issue with #5 on the list that comprises the latest addition of The Blind Leading the Blind series.

Number 5 reads, “Eating in your car while it’s parked in the Trader Joes/Whole Foods parking lot is N0T pathetic. It’s what I call, keeping it casual.”

The idea that would steer, nay, coerce your loyal and impressionable readership into this type of simian behavior is quite irresponsible.

Eating in a parked car outside of a grocer is nasty, whether it is a food retailer targeting the working class, such as Food City or Numero Uno Market or a high-end retailer like Whole Foods or Gelson’s is irrelevant.

Cracking into a bag of Pirate’s Booty or a container of cottage cheese in the parking lot carries the implication that you cannot control your fat little digits long enough to get home and prepare your food in a civilized manner; in a kitchen with proper implements like a plate and a fucking fork.

If I were to stroll by and have the displeasure of bearing witness to such a sloppy display I would certainly need to fight the urge to intervene as I would assume that I had just stumbled upon a serious binger/purger, in mid-binge. Frankly, Alexi, the thought has me purging a tiny bit in my mouth.

Yours,
Wee Ginger

Earlier than 3? Ixnay, as inevitably my “cart will cross” at least one nightcrawler I either know–or at least recognize– from clubland. How their make-up is holdin’ up in the 10,000 watt lighting is not the issue; instead, it’s all about how the sight of TP is bound to conjure up images of…

Eww. Territory on which we shall not tread.

Later than 4? BAM! There’s that adorkable hipster with whom you’ve been flirting at Starfucks. Of course, he just happens to be jetting in to get–I don’t know, chap stick or something–before “opening”/working the morning shift.

So much for THAT, then…I mean, the phrase “boody-call”?

*Ahem!*

Case at rest, right here.

Oh, and as a rule? The same applies for Tucks Pads, Preparation H, and adult-sized diapers.

Discover Amazon.com, or–if you’re fortunate enough to have an assistant… WAIT! Scratch that. No no no no no…do NOT.

If you live in L.A. and can’t fill in the proverbial blanks as to Why Not, here’s where the P.C. sensibilities get tossed over the shoulder:

Tighten the strap on your helmet, Retardo Monteban.

x o x o x
(And fully meaning it…but not, like, FULLY meaning it.
Ya naw mean?)

Kidding. It’s totes S’Ronson