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  • Got Him Out Of A Pickle
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    Aaaa-men, Brotha

    | Kansas City, MO, USA |

    (When I was a teenager I worked in a skateboard shop in the mall. I was working with my buddy and we see a loud, filthy group of guys coming down the hall towards our store.)

    Loud, filthy customer #1: ¬†”You guys sell hackie sacks, the kind with sand in ‘em?”

    Me: ¬†”Yup, right there.” *pointing*

    Loud, filthy customer #2: “What’s the return policy?”

    Me: “Thirty days with a receipt.”

    Loud, filthy customer #2: ¬†”So, if I shoot this hackie sack with mah sawed-off 12-gauge and run it over in mah truck, you’ll still take it back?¬†HAW HAW!”

    Me: ¬†”Heh, no. Thanks, guys.”

    (They leave. All the while, my coworker has been there, arms crossed, not moving an inch, with a cold, dead, angry stare.)

    Coworker: ¬†”Cousins need to STOP f***ing.”

    (I’d never laughed so hard in my life.)