Genial Black Man Goes to Spencer’s Gifts 3: Shitwrecked (NSFW)

I can no longer tell the difference between reality and fever dreams, for I found myself at Spencer’s Gifts once again.

Why? you ask. Good lord, I wish I knew. I wish I knew what was in that needle.

Thankfully (?) I had my camera to document the experience, though for all I know, these could be detailed Draw Something illustrations.

I saw someone wearing this on a train in Chicago several months ago. I now know the first person to track on my manhunt.

You have severe hygiene problems if you need beer pong and potty humor to remind you to do basic washing.

Who would find these bikinis hot or sexy–let alone funny?

Oh: someone that would buy this. (For LAFFS?)

There’s a juvenile element that drenches Spencer’s in the fever sweat of fuzzy-minded entendres, genitals, body parts and weed. It’s like  Spencer’s product suppliers test their wares on test groups to measure maximum giggle/high-five indexes.

“Does THIS trigger maximum giggletude, doctor?”

“Why yes, yes it does. Have this mass manufactured and shipped to those Spencer’s chuckleheads at ONCE!”

I would have talked with one of the staff members, but her “high maintenance” marijuana baseball cap convinced me that my answers would not be met. And really, could she explain this?

Or this?

Or THIS?

Or maybe she could, especially since this might be something she would wear:

I get that people get a laugh out of this stuff, and that they buy these things as pranks or amusement, but I question the intelligence and  regard for humanity of people that sincerely enjoy this:

Or this:

Let alone this:

(Not sure I want to find out what follows those ellipses.)

Or THIS?

The juggalo cup reminded me that no matter what brought me to that dank hellhole, whether I was in a hallucination of bad tastes and questionable decisions, or that I was that much closer to weeping for humanity on the ground next to an “I came to get my balls wet” t-shirt,” I would be able to leave–under my own power or dragged on the ground because of my inability to emerge from my defensive fetal position. But what would save the people that lurched into that store under their own volition? What would become of a human race that shows their humor in crass plastic toys and their aggression in poorly-worded clothing? And will I be able to reclaim my sanity?

Perhaps I will find out next time, where I risk a mental breakdown to learn the truth.

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