A Story and Store Review

So the other day I was on my way home through the park near my house, and I had to stop. Sitting there, under a tree was the most adoring and picture perfect couple known to man.

He was probably 19, she a little older maybe 22, and you could see it on their faces they were in it for the long haul. He doted on her like she was some sort of gift from the heavens and she basked in it like it was deserved of her and he had better keep it up if he knew what was good for him.


Then as they sat there and and reveled in their undying love, it happened; I saw him reach into his pocket to get something, and when his hand came back out he was holding a ring, a real classy looking piece probably antique, who knows maybe even his Grandmother's or something overly Sentimental like that, and I could see the words forming on his lips. "Will you mar..."

At this point I lept forth from the bushes in which I was hiding, ran over, punched him in the throat and kicked for the groin. As he writhed on the ground crying and his girlfriend sat in stunned disbelief, I shouted at him: "That hurts less than what this Harlot will do to you in 6 months time when she starts to fuck her boss at the minimum wage job she finally got so she could say she actually contributes something to the household and is not just a leech upon your emotions AND finances!"

I then ran home, had a beer, masturbated twice and cried myself to sleep.




Anyway this all leads up to something: A Review.

Have you ever been in a situation in which knew you just did not belong? Or had to feeling that everything around was so out of whack with reality you just could not explain the weird sense of foreboding that seems to sit on your shoulder like a carnivorous tick that is burrowing into your spinal column?

I was in that situation, and it happened when I went into Hollister Co.

Hollister Co. first opened its doors July 2000 in Columbus Ohio, it is a store that promotes the "California Surf Lifestyle." Tell me; What the fuck is the California Surf Lifestyle? As far as I know the Surf lifestyle involves not having a job, growing your hair long and getting high on the beach before "catching some wicked tubeage." Now if you were to actually live this lifestyle there is no way in fuck you could afford any of what this shit hole has to offer. Sorry, I am getting ahead of myself here. Let me take a moment to walk you through the Hollister "experience."

First; as you walk through the mall you see something but you are not sure what it is, could it be a cottage of some sort or possibly a restaurant? I mean why else would there be shutters on the windows making it impossible to see into the place? No, what you saw is actually fucking Hollister Co. these assholes think they are such superior shit they do not want you window shopping, for when you go into Hollister you know exactly what it is you want. However knowing what you want does not appear to be all that difficult as they have only 4 items on sale here, 1. Large baggy shorts in various colours and patterns 2. Hooded Sweat Shirts With "1922" written in bold letters on the front (what the fuck?) 3. Jeans, of course made to look as though you have owned them all your life when in reality you have paid upwards of a hundred bucks for something that looks like a piece of shit and was worn out ages ago 4. T-shirts, fucking t-shirts. 45 bucks for a fucking T with their name emblazoned all the fuck over it. Who the shit wants to pay 45 bucks to be a walking billboard for Douche and Co.? Now I may be understating what they have to offer just a little bit, but that is aside from the point, of the shit they do have, it all boils down to these 4 items. Frankly you can get this kind of bullshit from any other place in the fucking world, and probably pay half what they ask for it. These 4 items however are made difficult to find because for some reason some dickhead in marketing thought it would be a smart idea to have "gallery" lighting: As though every piece of clothing they sell is a piece of art. HORSESHIT! Art is the process of creating original works that carry meaning to the viewer and artist, the meaning can change from individual to individual. All the meaning the clothing this fucking Shit Factory carries is: "Look at me! I am a giant Twat and have no personality of my own!" So needless to say it can be tough to actually find what you are looking for, however if you are lucky, one of the out of work models/actors that are employed by this atrocity will concede to help you. All done with the fucking zeal of a spoiled piece o' shit yuppie cum rag, however only expect this glowing service if you yourself are one of the beautiful people or you have thousand dollar bill hanging out of your fly. It should also be known that if you were to ask for the location of "Men's" or "Women's" clothing, all you would get are vacant stares, no, at Hollister Co. the clothes are divided into "Dudes" and Bettys".... You hear me right; "Dudes" and "Bettys" Jesus Fucking Christ. If this does not signify the lowest possible point of Society as a whole I don't know what the fuck does. Never was I more disgusted with humanity or just life in general as I was when I found out we are now "Dudes" and "Bettys" to these cock-suckers. Anyway, by this point you have more than likely found what ever the fuck it is you want to purchase, and you approach the cash register, then on your immediate left you notice a wall of monitors. Now this could be used to some benefit, maybe they could show documentaries on any sort of world issue that seems appropriate at the time, or maybe they could play Academy Award winning films or something along those lines, seeing as Hollywood is essentially California, even that would be fuckin' acceptable. But No, what do these monitors have to show us? A live feed... a live feed from Huntington Beach (Surf City) California. FUCK! Why the fuck would anyone give a shit about that? GGGAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!

All right I can no longer go on about this, I fear I may shit.

In conclusion: I give Hollister Co. a Listerine douche out of 10, they are a representation of everything that is wrong with this world, and Western Culture in general. If I were to hear that every Hollister location suddenly went up in an explosion of self satisfied cum and bile, killing all employees and patrons, I would not bat an eyelash.

Fuck Hollister, and fuck everything they represent.

Then again what the hell do I know? I am just a 25 year old Divorcee.

-Chet Biggenston.

An Introduction and a Food Review

So I started this blog awhile ago just to get an account with Blogspot, and I suppose I never really had any intention of ever actually using this space for anything.

However as of today that has changed, as I once again found myself enraged with the service industry (which if you know me; is not surprising) and I felt as though some one; namely Me, had to write something about it to let you the public (which will probably be one other dude and anyone looking for amateur porn as I plan on tagging tits with this article) know just how shitty a lot of what this city: Toronto, Ontario has to offer really is.

So here it is my first review, a food review:

There is a lot to be said about Burrito Boys. You could go on for days about how their Burrito Stuffing's are almost always delicious and fresh, or you could rave about the amazing portions of of chicken and steak in their respective Burritos, or you could even say that you have never ever ever tasted anything as fuckin' delicious as their coveted Halibut Burrito!! Yes, you could say all of these things and you would be absolutely correct on every account.

However it seems as though in this day and age people have forgotten about something called: Customer Service. This is where Burrito Boys falls absolutely fuckin' flat. Not once have I been into this shit hole and not been enraged to the point of baby stabbing. The problems primarily fall into the collective laps of the Scene Kids that run the fuckin' place.

The second you walk in you know you are in a den of pseudo counter culture university black rimmed glasses wearing indie scene promoting second hand douche baggery and there is just no way of ignoring it. Don't get me wrong playing music is a good thing, even playing it semi-loudly is fine, but when you start to play it loud enough that you can't hear the customers and you just can't seem to keep yourself from fuckin' singing along and by doing so ignoring your customer, it then becomes a bit of a fucking problem.

Routinely I, as well as every other customer in the place, get held up because these GD invalids can't tear themselves away from singing the chorus to "Say it Ain't So" just one last time and take a fucking order, or to remove the Burritos from the grill that have been smoldering for the last 10 or so minutes, and give them to the patrons that have been waiting patiently in line for the last 20 minutes to get their delicious meaty brick. Another point; the women working there are too attractive. In any other situation this would not be a problem for me, but when it comes to Burrito Boys, the female staff seem to think of themselves as one collective fuckin' Queen Of Sheba, and love to lord it over every male customer that comes in and either completely ignore or treat the women like total pieces of shit. Listen ladies; I hate to be the one to burst your bubble but you are nothing special. You are just one more slightly above average girl that will not amount to much more than possibly a beer commercial at some point in your life that you will then go on to tell your 4 children about once you have gotten droopy and fat and society no longer gives a shit about you.

Okay I suppose I have ranted long enough, and its time to give this place a rating. Based entirely on the taste of food this place would get a 8.2 of a possible 10, there is no denying it their Burritos are delicious. However as a whole the restaurant warrants a 1.8 of a possible 10 because of a complete and total lack of respect for the customer.

In conclusion Fuck Burrito Boys, and Fuck Everything they ever hope to Accomplish.

The again what the hell do I know? I am just a 25 year old Divorcee.

-Chet Biggenston