I was at Burlington Coat Factory in Kingston. It’s the only Burlington Coat Factory I remember going to (maybe I was dragged into one as a kid when I needed a Confirmation suit or something, but I don’t really remember) so I can’t say if this BCF is representative of all BCFs, but this BCF is seriously ghetto. Yeah, g to the h to the e-t-o. I don’t think you have to spell it correctly when you’re doing that letter to the letter to the rest of the word lazy, pseudo-rap, rhthym ‘yes I gots my GED so’s I knows my letters’ thing.

Anyway, as I say, the Kingston BCF is rather on the trashy side. You know what a whigger is? Yeah, they got a whole lot o’ those. You ever see a guy with a flattened nose from mulitple breaks and only one tooth in front. That’s right, one. Maybe the guy had molars, but he was smiling a lot and in the whole frontal region there was one single canine. That’s it. Top and bottom. This is the guy to go to when you need to open a soup can without a pop-top. Just don’t let him hold the can himself, because he had at least one hand and sometimes both jammed down the front of his sweatpants the entire time he was on line.

Clientele aside, there is occasionally a deal to be had. Not often for me, though I got a good checkerboard tie once on clearance. If its not FUBU, there’s always a chance that it will make it to clearance, because I’m probably the only person who would even consider buying it. And still, the opportunities are rare. Maybe it’s my fault for refusing to pay $40 for $150 jeans that are stained, ripped, bleached, bearing some sort of vaguely gang-like tattoo art on the ass and gold stitching. I know, I’m such a snob.

Okay, I know I sound kind of like a dick, but you should really check the palce out next time you’re in Kingston. It’s definitely good for a chuckle. And if you get a chance, cruise the big and tall belts. I did, kind of by accident. I was making rounds with the boys, one holding each hand, when I caught site of something that looked like a peep show curtain. Since I knew there was no actual peep show at the BCF, at least not yet, I let curiosity get the best of me and investigated. Turns out, it was a wall of belts. Massive belts. I mean, MASSIVE belts. I mean, if there are diets for quick weight loss out there, anyone even casting an eye at needing one of these belts better start on the s to the l to the i-m-fast. Holy Guacamole.

The smallest belt hanging on this wall was 56 inches.  56 INCHES! How many cows can you rip 56 inches off in 2 inch strips? I love my burgers, but this was enough to make me consider going vegetarian. And then I saw it. The master stroke. The belt to end all belts. It was, I kid you not, hanging from a peg above my head and just barely touching the floor. I had to reach up to take it down.

And yes, I HAD to take it down. Why did I have to take it down? Because I had to wrap this thing around my waist two full times. Dude, it was a more than six foot belt. Now, I’m no slim jim here, but…damn. that’s a lot of Twinkies.

And I’m not talking the cream-filled golden snack cakes. I’m talking about the chubby pole dancers named Twinkie in the employ of your lesser quality strip clubs all across North Jersey.

I think I need a delicious shake for breakfast, another for lunch, and then a sensible dinner. Not for me, just in honor of the dude who is filling out that belt. I mean, seriously, if you are so large that I would not be tall enough to be your belt…I don’t think I can mock you. I think I can only applaud, with an almost silent golf clap, for you, large sir, are a true champion.