let's fo gishin said fritz there may or may not be a subtle game going on here	info	bug report

Driving along Interstate 10, the kids are bickering in the back seat. I keep asking them to stop, and they do for a few minutes, but eventually they get back at it. The boy is in one of those "I'm annoying" moods, the girl is just going off, switching from obnoxious screaming to pouty crying. I am on the verge of just pulling over, and walking for a few hours to cool down. Finally we come to a place to stop, a little hole in the wall tourist trap, the one with the bathroom at the end of a 50 foot isle of shot glasses and ceramic dogs. As I walk in a thought occurs to me, I could make a difference right here. A dashboard hoola girl shakes at me. Elvis is over there smirking at me, in his fancy black velvet wall covering. Damn, is that Marilyn Monroe on that coffee cup? I reach over and grab the Mickey Mouse phone, wrap it up in the Jack and Jill jump rope, and start swinging it. My weapon deployed, I take aim at a row of plastic, Indonesian made Kachina dolls, bursting the first three into toxic waste as the rest of the shelf becomes high speed projectiles heading straight for the glass case with the silver belt buckles. I bring the whirring Mickey straight down on to the saw horse and ply wood aisle of Apache tears, losing both of the Mouses ears, and embedding his base into the styrofoam eagle. With Mickey stuck solid, I let go the jump rope, and start grabbing ceramic dogs, aiming them with uncanny precision at a row of water goblets with the states names frosted on them. Now I notice the Walking-sticks, authentic simulated oak. I grab one in each hand, and thinking of the phrase 'whirling dirvish' I get down to business. The Marilyns end up exploding on impact, and the remaining dogs huddle in the broken 'V' of their shelf. I slow down a bit, and take the time to wipe out each and every God damned shot glass, one by one, giggling as they shatter and shards of glass go every where. I take a deep breath, walk over to the cooler, open it up, grab a soda, and head back to the counter. I pay up and head for the door, looking over my shoulder, Elvis is still smirking at me. Oh well, it was a good fantasy, and maybe next time...

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