Hello Darkness! The Official Blog of Helen Keller

Fanaholics,

I have a lot of adventures in gas stations. Not just gas stations mind you, I've had some hilarious experiences in other locales like Blockbuster, Tim Horton's (TRUE STORY: I once witnessed a man demanding to have his bagel reheated WHILE he was at the counter eating the bagel.) or the Beer Store. It's my luck that I get to see these quick vignettes of human stupidity at which point I laugh, crap my pants, go home and pull another pair out of the pile. Nothing's worse than remembering why I had to go home, sometimes I end up howling a big greaser out into the new pair too. My streak (ha!) is 6 pairs of undies in a row.

However, during the last trip to the gas station, I had to endure two of the ugliest fucking teenagers ever ramming their tongues down each other's throats while standing in line to pay for their $2.53 of gasoline. They were done up in their hideous emo-rags and probably the guy's biggest ambition in life was to go online and promote either his shitty DJing skills or his mo-cap acting dreams. Let's call him "Ditchwater". The girl was equally horrible to behold. Imagine the chick in the Ghost Rider promo who is being interviewed by Eva Mendes. Now, picture that chick uglier, like she had been hitched feet-first to the back end of a bus and dragged 3000 miles on her face. Let's call her "Roadface". I haven't a clue why these ugly bastards decided to start their "poisonous love" or whatever the fuck they call it, but we're in the line of a goddamn gas station. Don't these two have a dirt-pit at home they can crotch-smash each other in?

Anyway, these two had their tongues tied in a knot when the person ahead of them finished, leaving these two retards to shuffle their ugly bulk to the counter. But they didn't. They were just getting warmed up with each other and politeness be damned, they were going to make a crow-baby right there by the discount candy-bar bin.

I hate emo kids. They're all pretentious losers, but now they're holding me up too. Eventually, the girl behind the counter asked, "Can I help you?" The goths stopped tongue-fucking and Ditchwater let out this sigh like he's mad he was interrupted from seeding the world's dirtiest brood-mare. I know they're poor too. I knew they were poor the instant I walked into the gas station and saw them eyeing each other up for a poor-fuck in line. Once they were at the counter, they started emptying their pockets to find enough change, dumping the contents all over the counter. And the total really was something close to $5 too. While they were rummaging about the contents of their lives on the counter, I honestly felt like just handing over my credit-card to pay for their gas and mine, rather than endure them any longer. I would have even bought them a discount copy of Operation: Dumbo Drop from the DVD bin too. But no, life is suffering and on they went, taking out even more crap from other various pockets. The collection of shit and lint on the counter grew and grew. Eventually, they scraped together enough money, paid for the gas and left.

I was good about things. I didn't trip them, mock them (to their faces), fight them, insult them (to their faces) or grab Ditchwater's greasy ponytail and give it two good twists around my hand and punch my hand forward and backward giving him a good sense of reality. I paid for my gas too and turned to leave when I look out the window and saw them practically 69ing in this busted, Frankenstein's monster Toyota Tercel STILL PARKED AT THE GODDAMN PUMPS.

I got so mad I took up smoking and threw a lit cigarette down a gas-nozzle blowing up the entire gas station. Thankfully, I'm made of steel and good-looks so I survived the inferno with nary but a scratch. Luckily, I had a steak in my pocket and I cooked it to blue-rare on the smoldering remains of Roadface's face and ate it on my way home. I rule.