 |  |  |  |
| Kids Today |
| $3.14? Fuck that, I'll just take the Valtrex. |
The other day I decided to stop in at my local 7-Eleven to pick up a bottle of water. After briefly
salivating over the Fiji brand water (it looks so much better than regular water, but I’ll be
damned if I’ll pay four bucks just for a pretty bottle), I picked up an extra-large bottle of Deer
Park and headed for the checkout. As I was waiting in line, I heard the girl in front of me say,
“Yo, give me a box of your cheapest condoms.”
I’ve always believed that you should spend more money on things you are highly dependent
upon, like cars, shoes, and firearms. And birth control. I turned to see who could be so
Scroogian in their screwing protection. The girl maybe could have passed for eighteen
(although I’m not too good at guessing the ages of people who are younger than me. Or
people who are older than me. Or people who are my same age, for that matter. I can do
“baby,” “punk ass kid,” “middle-aged” and “ancient fucker,” that’s about it. Oh yeah, I can do
“sperm” and “dead”, too).
The guy behind that counter gave her his best condescending convenience store clerk glare
and rang up a box of off-brand sperm-catchers (which, if I’m not mistaken, is a term also used
to describe yo mama). They were basic rubbers, lacking all the bells and whistles condom
makers like to pile on their products nowadays. They weren’t ribbed for her pleasure, twisted
for his pleasure, cookie-dough flavored, or GPS-equipped to help you find someone to fuck.
Just plain old lubricated. Still, they came out to the sky-high price of…$3.14.
The girl screwed up her face in a look of disgust and said, “$3.14? Ugh. Are you SURE that’s
the cheapest?”
The guy, still glaring, nodded. Whilst making many angry noises that sounded like an otter
getting beaten by a two-by-four (my parents didn’t believe in television), the girl unfolded bills
from a crumpled-up wad until the clerk stopped glaring. He made her change, she grabbed
her purchase, and left. The girl walked out of the store and got into a truck with some dude
who looked to be about thirty-eight. The dirt on his wife-beater looked to be about thirty-five
(but once again, guessing ages is not my forte. But I do make a mean white wine spritzer, so I
got that going for me).
And now we interrupt this article for the 2005 retard awards. And the reward for most
outstanding retard goes to…that chick! Being cheap about condoms is one thing, but then
going and using them to bang some dude who looks like the guy who got crushed by a bear in
Roadhouse? I swear, kids today. God, I can’t wait until my skin is all wrinkled up and I have
more hair in my ears than on my head, because then I’ll be able to say something like “I swear,
kids today!” and have it be way more effective. I’m serious, I can’t wait to be an old bastard.
When I was a kid everybody else wanted to play cowboys and Indians, but I wanted to play
“get the hell off my lawn!” Man, I can’t wait to bitch about my prostate.
I also can’t wait to bitch about condoms. What’s with all the different kinds of condoms they
have now? Back in my day, condoms were just little pieces of plastic that you tried to talk girls
out of using with lines like “I swear I’m clean, I just got tested!” and “Of course I won’t come
inside of you!” You could get lubricated, non-lubricated, or extra-big (for those who are full of
shit). But now, the aisle in the drugstore that fourteen-year olds spend forty-five minutes
scoping out before they quickly walk down it and out of the store looks like a bag of Skittles.
And hey, don’t get me wrong, I like Skittles just as much as the next guy, but NOT ON MY
WANG. You can twist, flavor, and add warming liquid as much as you want, but it’s not going
to be better than not using one. It’s like mounting a spoiler on a Hyundai.
Condoms aren’t foolproof, either, even if you don’t ask for the cheapest ones in the store.
Despite all their cute talk about wanting “careers,” most women just want to get pregnant and
have kids, even if their fuck buddy doesn’t. If I had a dollar for every time I heard a story about
some chick who poked holes in a condom to get pregnant, I’d have like six dollars. And then I
could get some Chipotle. But that’s neither here nor there. The point is, if you don’t use a
condom, there’s nothing for the chicks to poke holes in. Better just play it safe and ride bare-
back, Romeo.
salivating over the Fiji brand water (it looks so much better than regular water, but I’ll be
damned if I’ll pay four bucks just for a pretty bottle), I picked up an extra-large bottle of Deer
Park and headed for the checkout. As I was waiting in line, I heard the girl in front of me say,
“Yo, give me a box of your cheapest condoms.”
I’ve always believed that you should spend more money on things you are highly dependent
upon, like cars, shoes, and firearms. And birth control. I turned to see who could be so
Scroogian in their screwing protection. The girl maybe could have passed for eighteen
(although I’m not too good at guessing the ages of people who are younger than me. Or
people who are older than me. Or people who are my same age, for that matter. I can do
“baby,” “punk ass kid,” “middle-aged” and “ancient fucker,” that’s about it. Oh yeah, I can do
“sperm” and “dead”, too).
The guy behind that counter gave her his best condescending convenience store clerk glare
and rang up a box of off-brand sperm-catchers (which, if I’m not mistaken, is a term also used
to describe yo mama). They were basic rubbers, lacking all the bells and whistles condom
makers like to pile on their products nowadays. They weren’t ribbed for her pleasure, twisted
for his pleasure, cookie-dough flavored, or GPS-equipped to help you find someone to fuck.
Just plain old lubricated. Still, they came out to the sky-high price of…$3.14.
The girl screwed up her face in a look of disgust and said, “$3.14? Ugh. Are you SURE that’s
the cheapest?”
The guy, still glaring, nodded. Whilst making many angry noises that sounded like an otter
getting beaten by a two-by-four (my parents didn’t believe in television), the girl unfolded bills
from a crumpled-up wad until the clerk stopped glaring. He made her change, she grabbed
her purchase, and left. The girl walked out of the store and got into a truck with some dude
who looked to be about thirty-eight. The dirt on his wife-beater looked to be about thirty-five
(but once again, guessing ages is not my forte. But I do make a mean white wine spritzer, so I
got that going for me).
And now we interrupt this article for the 2005 retard awards. And the reward for most
outstanding retard goes to…that chick! Being cheap about condoms is one thing, but then
going and using them to bang some dude who looks like the guy who got crushed by a bear in
Roadhouse? I swear, kids today. God, I can’t wait until my skin is all wrinkled up and I have
more hair in my ears than on my head, because then I’ll be able to say something like “I swear,
kids today!” and have it be way more effective. I’m serious, I can’t wait to be an old bastard.
When I was a kid everybody else wanted to play cowboys and Indians, but I wanted to play
“get the hell off my lawn!” Man, I can’t wait to bitch about my prostate.
I also can’t wait to bitch about condoms. What’s with all the different kinds of condoms they
have now? Back in my day, condoms were just little pieces of plastic that you tried to talk girls
out of using with lines like “I swear I’m clean, I just got tested!” and “Of course I won’t come
inside of you!” You could get lubricated, non-lubricated, or extra-big (for those who are full of
shit). But now, the aisle in the drugstore that fourteen-year olds spend forty-five minutes
scoping out before they quickly walk down it and out of the store looks like a bag of Skittles.
And hey, don’t get me wrong, I like Skittles just as much as the next guy, but NOT ON MY
WANG. You can twist, flavor, and add warming liquid as much as you want, but it’s not going
to be better than not using one. It’s like mounting a spoiler on a Hyundai.
Condoms aren’t foolproof, either, even if you don’t ask for the cheapest ones in the store.
Despite all their cute talk about wanting “careers,” most women just want to get pregnant and
have kids, even if their fuck buddy doesn’t. If I had a dollar for every time I heard a story about
some chick who poked holes in a condom to get pregnant, I’d have like six dollars. And then I
could get some Chipotle. But that’s neither here nor there. The point is, if you don’t use a
condom, there’s nothing for the chicks to poke holes in. Better just play it safe and ride bare-
back, Romeo.
Comments? Email me at JimiChanga@SurlyTaco.com
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