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A young man came into the store today asking for a job.

He was NINE YEARS OLD (at the most...)

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Unless you've been comatose (or in the remote deserts of Africa), you have seen/heard by now the McDonald's promotion where they are giving away free iced mochas every Wednesday. When I drove by my friendly neighborhood McDonald's last week, someone had rearranged the letters on the promo sign to "Free Iced Ass Every Wednesday."

I called my husband. I thought he would be really psyched. He didn't seem that interested.

The funny part? The sign stayed that way for a couple of days (which leads me to believe that they REALLY WERE offering free iced ass!)

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I get this question from time-to-time and it seems like a really stupid question to me:

"Have you read all the books in here?"

Now, I can honestly say that I've NEVER walked into a B&N, or Borders, or any independent bookstores and even considered that of an employee there.

Would you ask a Target employee if they've tried all the products in the store?

What about a Petco employee? "Hey, have you sampled all these dog foods?"

Really, people, come on. There might not be a dumber question.

(But, hey, that's just me...)

8/16 Addendum: Yes, this WAS a re-visit of a previous post. Just goes to show you how stupid people are...

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[Aryan nation-looking young man with shaved head enters store. After he browses for a while, he comes up with a book.]

Aryan Boy: Do you know Clive Barker? Do you read him?

[Side note: Clive Barker is an insanely graphic horror novelist - one sick MoFo in my book]

Me: Not really. Not for a long, long time.
Aryan Boy: He has some REALLY GREAT books, don't you think?
Me: HM
Aryan Boy: So, I notice that you have lots of freckles on your chest, but none on your face.
Aryan Boy: I know it seems weird, but you have lots of freckles on your chest, but I don't see any on your face so I was just wondering if you cover them up or something...
Me: *blink*
Me: *blink blink*
Me: *blink*
Me: Enjoy your books.

If there are no more posts after this one, then you know that I'm chained in the crawl space of Aryan boy's parent's house reading Clive Barker aloud to him while he counts my chest freckles...

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For some reason, this article tickled my funny bone:

Experts warn of lightning-strike injuries with iPods

I don't know why. It's yet another insight into my warped sense of self (but I did get a good chuckle out of it...)

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If you don't know Amy Winehouse yet, run (DON'T WALK) right out to get her new CD (thanks to our 'Dinger friend for this turn on). She has a unique and funky R&Bish sound that could only come from a wacky Brit.

All I have to say is who the heck are Ray, Mr. Hathaway, and Mr. Jones?!?! Hm.

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We're a dog-friendly bookstore here. As a matter of fact, we put out a dog bowl of water everyday and I keep dog treats under the counter. It's just how we are (yes, this IS a cool bookstore, we know...).

The temperature has been in the 90s here. I get a call and a customer asks, "If we come to the store and bring our dog, do you mind if we bring him in the store?" I answered, "No, of course not. We're dog friendly here" (plus I would cringe at someone bringing their dog then leaving it in the car with the windows rolled up in this heat). Now, I made two very important, seemingly innocent assumptions:

1. That the dog was potty trained.
2. That the dog's "parents" were semi-intelligent human beings.

They bring a homely little dog in here, but hey, I don't discriminate, so I gave the animal as much attention as I give others. The dog runs around the store as the owners look at books. The next thing I know, the male owner is yelling the dog's name and the female owner is dragging him out the door. Before the male owner could get out the full sentence of "Do you have any paper towels?" I already knew. I couldn't see, but I could smell why he needed paper towels. The foul odor penetrated our store and rested upon every surface (including my tongue) in just a matter of seconds.

And, let me tell you, this wasn't just any usual dog bowel movement (I have dogs, I consider myself well versed in the subject) -- this was a big pile/puddle of runny dog poop creating a growing 6-inch diameter on my carpet. I watched in awe/disbelief/revulsion as the male dog owner scrubbed this runny mess into my carpet while I was trying not to gag from the smell.

After all was said and done, the male owner looks at me and says,
"Huh. That's weird. He does this ALL THE TIME at home, too."