I don't know why I like Walmart. It's just so there. Whenever I wander the aisles, I think of that French word hypermarche, a word I knew before stores like Walmart grew, and grew, and consumed the American appetite.
Without a doubt, they are frightening places. Take, for example, the people. Did you ever wonder when the last time a Walmart floor was cleaned? I mean, really cleaned? That's right. You do not want to know. And to think someone lived in one.
You could get lost in a Walmart. You could lose yourself in a Walmart. Or, you could find yourself in a Walmart. On some shelf loaded with lotion. A body cream that smells like cupcakes. You smell it. It smells right. You buy it. You take it home. You smell yourself. You smell like cupcakes. You smell like Walmart. You reek of the obese American dream.