To a Brit, the concept of Black Friday here in America is a lot like the Boxing Day sales in the UK… when people get up at dumb-o’clock in their hungover, woebegone states just to punch each other’s lights out over a bunch of material shit they just don’t need. Now… I love the Boxing Day sales! Hell, I’d even don a spiked ring and punch a girl for the right pair of discounted Louboutins, but you know what I wouldn’t do? I wouldn’t knock a bloke out over a telly in Walmart:
WALMART. Really? Now, don’t get me wrong, I also love Walmart. Oh, I know, I know, I know it’s evil; I know it’s the epitome of everything that’s wrong with the world regarding mass production and consumption and blatant consumer exploitation but… but… they have everything! It’s like how Woolworths used to be before they all closed down in Britain, only bigger. You can get everything in there, from a pack of peppered bacon made from pigs bashed with bowling balls, to faux-cotton socks, to a Donny Osmond album for five bucks… but why you’d want to go there at 6am and be swallowed by a sea of screaming idiots scrambling for a telly they could probably buy just as cheap online is beyond me.
Apparently the worst fights are in Texas. There are stretchers and ambulances outside some Walmart stores. There was a death in 2008 but still, dipshits won’t learn and in some places, people are hanging outside in the car parks and nicking the big screen TVs from those who’ve just bought them. It’s the Hunger Games… for wankers.
I think I’ll be staying in the house today. I have Thanksgiving leftovers and my laptop and my flatmate already has a telly. Why leave? It’s a jungle out there.