Reid About It

Hope everyone has had a Merry Christmas by now, and I wish you many happy, easy returns. A few days before Christmas, I went to Wal-Mart for a couple of things and found both some gift ideas and some questionably comedic fashion. It was well worth the trip.

This t-shirt was on a rack at the front of the store, emblazoned with the slogan "If You're Naughty, I Won't Tell Santa." However, take a good look at the shirt. I'm not sure if it shows up in the picture, but the "Naughty" on the shirt appears to be smeared with red streaks. That's not chocolate, folks. It appears to be blood.

I have to disagree with this one. "Naughty" at Christmas should be mischievous and playful. "Naughty" covered in blood is not playful naughty. If I find you blood-stained at Christmas time, I will not call Santa. I will immediately dial 911, then get around to filling your stockings with coal later on.

At the front of the store was this sign, tagged to the bathroom door. I saw it said "Wet Floor," so I was ready for the bathroom to have been freshly mopped and slippery.

Nope. It was every bit as filthy as you would expect. It couldn't have been more disgusting if Courtney Love had been getting a Pap smear in there.

I guess from a legal disclaimer standpoint, by "Wet Floor" they mean that the floor is always going to be wet, and that wetness should not be interpreted to be dependent on the cleanliness of the floor. They mean "Eternally Wet Floor, Perpetually Covered In Urine And Other Disgusting Fluids."

Finally, a fashion question. When did it become perfectly okay to wear pajamas to Wal-Mart? I mean, I know Wal-Mart is not exactly a runway in Milan, but shouldn't you at least wear something purchased as outerwear to the store?

Look at this woman in the pink soft pants. She's dressed like she just fell out of bed and realized she needed to purchase baby formula, dog food, and douche, and knew there was only one store in the world where she could knock out every item on her shopping list.

No need to put on jeans, or even sweatpants. Just get up, grab your keys and your smokes, and go to Wal-Mart.

At least she was wearing shoes. While I was still reeling from finding the first woman clad like she was about to lay down for a long winter's nap, this woman in the black PJs sidles by me. She's not only clad in pajamas, she's also wearing a pair of Tazz slippers.

These are fuzzy slippers, but by this point they're fuzzy in a way that a HAZMAT team should be investigating.

When I leave Wal-Mart, I already feel like I should bleach myself for worry that the Andromeda Strain has attached itself to me. I cant imagine taking the clothes I wear for comfort at putting them in harms way like that.