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Pavlov couldn't help but reminisce, as he watched the pathetic, widowed crone hobble and struggle along the icy trottoirs, of his very first summer job at the A&P...
Old Mrs. Manypaws never failed to come in every Thursday to do her weekly shopping. One day she arrived at the checkout (Pavlov, whose English was still feeble at the time, was forced by the Union to work as a bag-boy, in the era before consumers had a choice between paper and plastic, thus obviating the need for a linguistically coherent bagger. Indeed, how soon we forget the ramshackle collection of half-wits, mutes and hunchbacks, on whom we once relied to assemble properly our groceries.)
In any case, the hag had loaded up her basket with an assortment of tinned catfood. "Why Mrs. Manypaws", called out the obsequiously irritating assistant manager, "I didn't know you had a cat!"
"I don't", replied the battle-axe, "but we've got to economize due to social security cutbacks, so this is what I shall feed my husband from now on."
Alarmed, the lackey informed her that she was putting her husband's life at risk by feeding him in this manner. She just shrugged her shoulders and left the store with her purchases. This scenario repeated itself for the next month or so: each time the shrew arrived at the checkout with the catfood, the shopkeeper would admonish her about the danger to which she was subjecting her husband. But the fishwife was set in her ways, and not to be deterred by some faggoty milksop who couldn't even make it out of community college.
One day, Mrs. Manypaws arrived at the checkout sans catfood. "No catfood for Mr. Manypaws this week?", simpered the little homo.
"No, he died" replied Mrs. Manypaws, rather grimly.
"I told you that stuff would kill him!" cried out the manager, three-quarters-triumphantly.
"It wasn't the catfood that killed him, you little shit," retorted the crone. "He broke his neck trying to lick his ass!"
Date Written: December 08, 2003
Author: Mr. Joshua
Average Vote: 4.75