Yesterday I went to the Mall of America and was duly inspired. The heavenly MoA featured
- more elevators than I have teeth (27)
- three Orange Julius’s and six Cinnabons to provide unadulterated gluten and sugar coated dreams
- a Sears the size of eight giraffes taped side by side and four hyenas on top of them, just laughing at you
- a JC Penny bigger than the world’s largest breadbox (hot mannequinns too)
- 42 magazine stores that sell pornography with enough porn magazines to stack to the moon
- A full-time year-round Santa Claus! (good kisser, slow hand)
- and a plethora of arcades, including one filled to the flask’s brim with only Dance Dance Revolutions!
Before I wandered in the the DDR Arcade I swallowed a four leaf clover.
Lucky little me, it just so happened that the St. Agnes School for Gout Ridden Girls’ cheerleading squad inhabited all but one of the DDR spots — and I got the last spot! Oh my god, it was like winning sixth place at the National Spelling Bee! I have to admit that I am a pretty bad mother on DDR, especially when they play country western or showtunes. I was nervous as hell — I couldn’t let those diabetic diabolical bitch-snatches beat me this time and what if they played rap, or worse yet post 1993 Madonna?
But thank you Virgin Mary, the stars aligned in my favor with the opening twang of John Denver’s “Please, Daddy, Don’t Get Drunk on Christmas” blasting throughout the arcade! I had first danced to this song when I was 6 during the Christmas that my dad switched over to barbituates and weed. The DDR machine was pretty well oiled up from the sweat of the adolescent she-beast before me so I powdered it up with talc, wheat flour and Gold Bond. I danced until 8 inches of colo-rectal came unfolding out of me.
I didn’t win, but I felt like I had won 6th place in a RuPaul “tuck off”.
The Mall of America is surely the best thing to ever happen to Minnesota. Before it, the only thing they had going for themselves was that they weren’t South Dakota.
