Every one of the girls on my feed crew were dosed with estrogen-laced crack, tonight, I swear. They were all hyper and laughing and being very "girl."
Of course, when I heard of their plan for the evening, going to Wally World, filling a cart with random items, and dropping them into other people's carts, I had to speak up, in the name of maturity, to stop this juvenile delinquency. I was, after all, the responsible adult there.
Yeah, right. If you believe that one, I've got some excellent ocean front property I want to discuss with you.
My contribution was minimal, actually, I merely told them that for maximum amusement value the items should be entirely off the wall. Pregnancy test for an eighty year old woman. Douche for the nice clean cut young man buying all of the salad components. A box of condoms and the largest tub of vaseline available there for the mother with three kids in tow, preferably with one of them being fourteen or older, to open up the debate on whom, exactly, put the items into the cart.
Of course, for real entertainment on those sorts of missions, you have to scratch the bar code on the box or the sticker, so that it won't read properly. Otherwise, the people might get all the way home and wonder why they bought a tub of whipped cream, a jar of pickled okra, and six bottles of Astro Glide, which thought is amusing but deprives you of your god-given right to witness said confusion.