At the hardware store

I was in a hardware store the other day, scoring some itemries that would fit in well with my rugged, manly lifestyle. Once done I took my basket up to the check out and piled everything on the counter so that checkout-buddy could run it through and I could get home and start putting stuff up, and stuff. While he was running my stuff through I couldn’t help but notice that he was fidgeting around like a terrorist on his first suicide-bombing so I manfully asked, “What’s your problem? You got ants in your pants?”

“No,” checkout-buddy says, “it’s my pants. They keep falling down.” I was about the suggest that he invest in a decent belt, or even a crappy pair of suspenders, when he sort of laughed and added, “It’s like when I played bass at my mom’s church. One time I’m playing away and my belt snapped. Next thing you know, my pants are down at my knees. It was pretty embarrassing.” As I handed him my debit (or ‘debt’) card I agreed that that sort of thing could be a little embarrassing.

He was still chuckling to himself as he handed me my receipt and I couldn't help but notice the tattoo on his forearm. It was a cross, made to look like dripping red blood, overlaid with a black pentagram. Of course now I’m wondering what sort of church his mom went to.

Anyway… Humouroceros

Artists, well, my rendition of what the tattoo looked like: