If your wife insists on dragging you to Target, make sure you have a drink first, since being stranded in the Moreland Avenue Target in downtown Atlanta last night proved to be ten times more bearable than usual thanks to a tranq-dart of a martini we drank before entering. (Damned tricky to balance those sloshy glasses while driving a stick-shift, but somehow we prevailed.)
Once we were done perusing the rock-bottom prices on XBox games--being a half-assed Luddite does have its advantages, especially when you're too cheap to buy a new game system--we tottered our way over to the magazines section. Umm, since they didn't have Foreign Affairs or The Economist, we had to make our next stop down the ladder and settle for the next logical option...Maxim.
They had the usual lackluster selection of glossy lists and cheesecakey photos of women manicured, constructed, crash-dieted, and surgically enhanced to just several degrees shy of porn stardom. (Again, we think the theory behind this school of female attractiveness is the desperate hope of fat, sweaty middle aged men: if they slept with a thin, rich, and attractive woman, it would prove to be venereally contagious for them, and they would wake up thin, rich, and attractive.) Three of these aforementioned women happened to be the FSU Cowgirls (page 98, we think) in their Maxim spread, which juxtaposed images of them grabbing each other's sunken ass cheeks with quotes like "We're not slutty" superimposed over the pictures.
And then, just as we were about to turn the page and learn how to chug beer from a human skull/convince a woman we were actually an international spy/build a pocket nuke from a hot dog wrapper and condiment packets, we saw this quote from the abominably spelled "Chrystal" of the FSU Cowgirls:
"Tallahassee is, like, the only town where you can't tell the bums from the people who actually go to school there."
And suddenly, with that one instant and the purchase of a marked-down copy of Splinter Cell: Chaos Theory, going to Target became totally worth it.
We report, you decide.
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