Sunday, November 22, 2009


SO, he who shall not be named (lets call him satan for namesake) decided it would be a good idea to ruin my life by going to Roberts Christmas Store. First of all no. I have to test my self for aids and insanity after entering the place full of snow villages, figurines, and the reason for which we were there: artificial Christmas trees. Even the conception of a mental picture of how awful this place was isn't even something i wish upon Bonnie Cashin (awful person, founder of coach). the smell alone leads me to believe that "robert" died 11 years ago of obesity and alcahol poisoning ( most likely Natty Light) and his remains were being constantly burned in the back to maintain the smell. After looking at snow villages with black santas, we proceedes to

the back to look at the artificial Christmas trees. A large woman that smelled like cheap vodka and rubbing alcohl approached us. up close, i could confirm that her hair was colored drunkenly, using food dye and elmers glue, and she was wearing blackened target crocs. When satan asked me if i liked the plastic green monstrosity that was being hugged by a huge, disgusting 7-foot tall and wide bear (you would guess taxidermy, but even that is an overestimation) I responded by gagging on my tongue, vomiting in my mouth and then walking away. i went to the tackiest esile i could find and texted everyone i knew. Because the esile was so creepy and tacky with a bunch of ghostly white dead looking "precious children" figurines staring at me (even too low-grade for someones grandma living in a trialor park in northern florida), you'd infer that I was alone. guess again. so many wrinkly little trolls with missing teeth filed in that esile, you'd think it was a casting call for yoda or E.T., but even that is being too kind.

no picture is present for the above text. You're welcome.

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