Fame

I love Barack Obama.
I mean, what’s not to love?
Nothing, unless of course he’s airbrushed onto a hot pink t-​shirt with the word «CHANGE!» emblazoned in fake gold lamee across the chest, nestled on a rack in between a Lil’ Wayne shirt and a hoodie that says «I SEE YOU, HATER!»
Political Fashion Crime: The most devastating fallout from the mismanaged American free market economy to date.
However, when your thirteen year-​old niece asks you for an Obama shirt, and tells you how much she adores hot pink, that $ 10.99 Obamanstrostiy is looking pretty good.
Yes, I bought it.
And yes, when I gave it to her on her birthday she laughed, rolled her eyes, and handed it back to me. «Um, no. But thanks anyway!» she said.
I laughed it off. I had known there’d good chance she’d hate it and, hell, I could return it. I specifically asked the dude in the Hilltop Fame store where I purchased it and he assured me that if I was not satisfied, that I could exchange it for another low-​quality, brightly colored, synthetic hoochie garment AT ANY FAME LOCATION. Cool beans.
So I went to Fame in the Southland Mall with my Obastardization and my receipt. Aware that Fame only excepts returns for merchandise credit, I took a moment to search for something more suitable for my niece. While I flipped through the racks, Lil’ John and the Eastside Boyz skeeted in my ear at volume 11.
(«TO THE WINDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW, TO THE WALL!!!»)
I found a purple cowl neck sweater made from an unknown fiber which, from the scent of the item, I concluded was the dyed new pubic growth of the pubescent Chinese workers who knit it. I brought it up to the counter.
CASHIER: *taking sweater* Will that be all?
(«TO THE SWEAT DROP DOWN MY BALLS!!!»)
TSADA: Actually I have to do an exchange. *hands Cashier the Obabythatsoneuglyshirt*
(«TO ALL THESE BITCHES CRAWL!!!»)
C: Do you have a receipt?
(«TO ALL SKEET SKEET MOTHERFUCKER!!!»)
T: Excuse me?
(«ALL SKEET SKEET GOT DAM!!!»)
C: What?
(«TO ALL SKEET SKEET MOTHERFUCKER!!!»)
T: What? I can’t hear you. Here’s the receipt.
C: *studies receipt* Oh, I can’t take this back. You bought it at the Hilltop store.
(«ALL SKEET SKEET GOT DAM!!!»)
T: Yes, and they told me specifically that I could return it to any of your stores.
C: Who did?
T: The guy.
(«SKEET!!!»)
C: No.
(«SKEET!!!»)
T: Yes.
(«SKEEEEEEEEET!!!»)
C: No.
T: But that’s what I was told. Or I wouldn’t have bought it if I’d known I could only return it there. I don’t usually go to the Hilltop Mall, cuz, well, YOU know.
*winks*
(«GOT DAM!!!»)
C: Well, I can’t take it back. We have different inventory here.
T: *glances over at a rack displaying HUNDREDS of hot pink Obama shirts; looks at cashier*
C: No.
T: But I don’t understand… I mean, you carry the same stuff here. And this shirt is only eleven bucks! And I’m not even asking for my money back. I am asking for a credit so that I can purchase this purple sweater that costs twice that, which I probably won’t buy otherwise. Please?
(«SKEET SKEET!!!»)
C: Sorry.
T: Come on, man. Do the right thing. What would Obama do? We’re talking about making a difference in a young girl’s wardrobe. We’re talking about HOPE. We’re talking about exCHANGE!
C: Um, no.
T: Can I speak to the manager?
C: I am the manager.
T: Skeet.
Fucking Fame. I wouldn’t wish that shit on Sarah Palin.