My trip to Wal-Mart. By Johnny Utah. I went to Wal-Mart to get some badass supplies for my spring break trip. Upon entering my car, I noticed that I was at an eighth of a tank. I decided to remedy said eighth by going to a gas station and pumping in five bucks worth of gas. I arrived at Wal-Mart about ten minutes later. My gas tank was back at an eighth. My first stop was at the toothbri (plural of toothbrush). There were alot of choices, but I decided to go with the one on sale...it has soft bristles. Next, I went to pick up some socks and boxers. The sock excursion went without incident. However, upon looking at the boxers I discovered the Wal-Mart had placed an obviously-repackaged container of boxers back on the shelf...with one dollar off! Wow, if I had wanted a dollar discount on something some dude had already stuck his cock in I would have just...well I won't finish this one, but the punch line ends with "Weston." On a side note, why do they advertise underwear to men with male models? Yes, we all know what boxers look like, having worn them before. If Hanes had really wanted to sell me underwear, they would have put a picture of scantily-clad women on the front. Anyways, back to Wal-Mart. So I bought a pair of shades for five bucks. I know, they're cheap, flimsy, and probably intensify, rather than prevent, UV Rays. However, I looked quasi-badass in them. I did a Zoolander pose (Blue Steel) and some woman with her toddler looked at me like I was nuts. I left said shades department. Next, I went to get some snacks. I picked up gum, skittles, and was looking at pop when an old Wal-Mart woman looked at me, grinned with her crooked, yellowed, dilapedated teeth, and told me that "that stuff [pop] would rot my brain. I put the pop back. Next I went to the checkout, where I discovered that the only register without a wait of infinity-billion minutes was the self-checkout. Now I am by no means a cashier, so I took a few minutes to scan my propertizzle. Behind me was a kid, probably no more than 12 who said "shiiit, hurry the fuck up." Needless to say, that ended with a vicious roundhouse to the skull. Just kidding. The roundhouse was to the chest. Finally, I found my car, drove home, and ended up under an eighth a tank of gas.