COLORBLIND DRUGSTORE CLERK CAN’T FIND RED HOT WATER BAGS
GRAVESEND, ENGLAND, UNITED KINGDOM—For ages, the drugstore clerk has been looking for red hot water bags. Get your head out of the gutter, Nehebkhau. It’s not the Red Hot’s brand. We can help him look but we can’t help him find.
“They really don’t make them like they used to,” said K. Ron Ike Lee, the local drugstore clerk. “Do you remember them? The red rectangular floppy water bags that were supposed to cure blunt farce trauma?” As he speaks at length, he passes by blue rectangular pouches that do the job just as well.
Upon mentioning, K pays no mind. “No one will ever want the blue ones. They just make me sad.” K said. “Upon my death, I’ve been told until I can sell the most effective of water bags, I’m not allowed to leave Earth and have my peace.”
I wonder even, if K knows he’s colorblind. With a capital “C.”
“I always spell kolourblind with a ‘k,’ don’t you?” K said. Dumb and British. What a whacky cracker combo!
K has been working constantly at his family’s Drug Store for decades. It’s been forever since someone has come in to pick up a prescription. It’s been four minutes since someone has come in to drop off a poo.
“The perks of operating in the men’s restroom at Lion’s Pharmacy.” the phantom pharmacist sighs. As he does so, a racist mortal experiences a heart attack and dies, mid-pee.
As his apparition arises, “Well, looks like I’m merging with purgatory. And boy, do I got a deadache from all this blunt farce!” Upon spotting K. Ron, he asks, “Do you have any of those rectangular floppy water bags? The ones that are supposed to cure blunt farce trauma?”
As if he’s lost all his color, K says back, “Sadly, we only have these things.” He holds up one that’s blue.
“That’ll do,” says the Floating Phobic. “I can do without that Native Ingenuity.” As he descends into the Damned, “What kinda Spic runs this Special K’s?”
Racist indeed. May Nehebkhau barter his soul. Yellow-bellied spirits sell just as well as gold hearts.
A whir and a stir of the ground later and the air opens up, yanking K up, up and away! “Looks like I’m finally going up to the big whorehouse in the sky!” he exclaimed. “It’s about time I get my piece of ass!”
And with that he passes, like gas.
Shit, that’s nasty.
Read more on titmag.com
