God must have hired someone to continually throw shit at my fan...

I have no job. I am unemployed. I was at Wegmans a couple of days ago, and I accidentally stepped in front of a woman on a sullen mission for broccolli that was on sale, and we both upped the negative energy at all grocery stores in the Continental US about three fold. She proceeded to run over my foot a total of two times , once by the bread where I actually tried to smile at her, and then over by the deli again, where I followed her to make up for the half smile. She was under 120lbs. and had a fur coat over 15lbs., and a coach purse, and really pointy shoes.

I really have started to love and appreciate the three hours a day I take off my shoes and cry in the middle of my kitchen. Why can I not stop thinking about all of this shit that went on so very very long ago? Why did we buy, yet another puppy yesterday night? Something falls and everyone jumps, but when someone yells everyone keeps eating. This is the way that things are coming out these days, isn't it frustrating to know I've ruined my chances? If I don't think i'm funny, then no one should, and the last thing we need is another movie about making a movie. I can't believe little bow wow is getting so old...

People that are 18 are 2 years younger than me. I'm still in the mindframe that seeing someone that's 18 is older than me. What fucking Denny's bathroom stall did I leave my brain in? I can't believe I've only lost one wallet in my lifetime. I can't believe I said that. I can't believe i'm still afraid of saying things because they might happen.

We went to this estate sale a couple of days ago, and I got my grandmother a 2-cup percolator, which is like, fucking old people crack, they can't get enough percolators in different cup sizes and chrome variations, it's like if this sentence was an SAT question it would say : Old people are to percolators, as young drug dealers are to:
a. crack
b. rims
c. air freshners
d. bitches
but, anyway, we're sifting through the shit you can't take with you , which is apparently 150 salt/pepper shaker combinations, numerous statues of religious figures and Charlie Chaplin and lots of mirrors fat people would never buy. This person, I'm assuming , was a really skinny guy with lots of stuff left over from the stuff his wife couldn't take with her about ten years earlier, possibly a daschund/Catholic aficianado, and possessing a strong fascination with Christmas ornaments.
I couldn't help but wonder what my estate sale might look like, and how different or similar it might be from my lifetime. There would probably be a lot of shit left over after my family picked through all the stuff they couldn't sell for less than a dollar, and wouldn't want to take until they had an estate sale of their own. I wish I could be like the Egyptian pharoahs, hiring help to dig out a large hole under my garage and be buried around my ashtray collection and Beatles posters, and books I bought at Barnes and Noble because they were on the clearance rack, and I for some reason, needed them desperately at the time.