The Quest for the Sacred Ikea Wind-up Clock (part 2)

First a gentle reminder. If you experience any of the following:
Easily hurt and/or compromised feelings
Extreme religious and/or political opinions and mentality
Diarrhea of the mouth while suffering the above afflictions
Please do not read my blog.

If you have an aversion to cursing, violence, sex, destruction of property, having a sense of humor, or Article 19 of The Universal Declaration of Human Rights please do not read my blog.

If you dislike or have difficulty understanding satire/sarcasm, just don't even bother. Nobody likes you anyway.

Awesome blog reading discretion has been advised. Don't be mad, Boo.



Aug 21, 2007



The Quest for the Sacred Ikea Wind-up Clock (part 2)





Day 2, Hour 5: Just prior to the I-205 north ramp, I spotted a 'biking' accident (please see my previous blogs to view my feelings about 'bikers' and their accidents). However, this type of 'bike' is what the 'community' refers to as a "rice burner" so I took no particular joy in the scene. The rider was alive and being loaded into an ambulance, so I breathed a short lived sigh of relief because I really didn't want to get out of my car and play nurse on my day off......and I still had the vicious task of merging onto I-205.



Hour 5:02: I totally merged. It was totally ass-crackers cause everybody thinks I'm a cop. Cause I have a cop car. Cause I totally rule.



Hour 9: *Begin reading with sarcasm* Navigating in the Ikea parking lot is always enjoyable. *End sarcasm* The flagger traffic person is very bitter possibly due to minimum wages or small penis.....maybe both. I reluctantly follow his directions as both he and the parking lot are retarded. It has been baking outside, approaching, like, a billion degrees. I prepare for my long journey to Ikea's front doors by taking off my shirt, urinating on it and placing it on my head to keep myself cool in the heat (like Bear Grylls on that show "Man vs. Wild" on the Discovery channel...I hate that guy).


Hour 15: As I approach the front doors to Ikea, they can smell me....so I use the cunning I learned in spy school to elude the door greeters and slip past them onto the escalator. I had to push down an older gentleman to get onto it, but he was totally blocking my way and was yelling in Swedenese. I think he was maybe the owner....who used to be affiliated with the Nazis. Don't believe me?

Google it.



....to be continued....