Brookstone'd
Awhile back, I visited my friend Chris in Salt Lake City. For some reason (probably because we had chicks with us) we were compelled to go to the SLC Gateway walking mall. Holy hell.

For me, it was way more entertaining than going to the zoo. I'm told that this place is a pretty uppity shopping center, so I got to see the super wealthy in their own natural habitat. It was still winter, and there were grown women wearing what appeared to be fur lined moon boots. Fucking moon boots!! Oh, the fashion was simply to die for. It was soooo hard to hold a straight face in there... seriously, I could have been strutting around wearing 70's shortie basketball shorts with a flannel shirt, a sombrero, and boots like Gene Simmons from KISS used to wear, and I would not have stood out one bit. There was also a young man of Mexican decent whose entire existance appeared to revolve around driving slow laps around the mall in his Mustang while listening to some atrocious rap music through blown speakers. All. Day. Long.

Anyway, this whole exostential experience climaxed when I walked into the Brookstone store. Holy fucking shit. Remember in the movie Fight Club when there was the monologue about people working jobs that they hate so they could buy shit that they don't need? All the shit that they don't need can be found in Brookstone.

There was a wine chiller, a hands-free soap dispenser (you know, in case you're too fucking weak to PUSH DOWN ON THE FUCKING SOAP DISPENSER!!!), and some watch that does something while you sleep. My stars, how can I live without a watch that monitors my sleep patterns?

Sweet baby Jesus. Seeing what rich people spend their money on makes me long for the days when the top income bracket paid a 90% income tax. What was wrong with that, seriously?