Read Lemons 03 Stroke of Genius for Free Online Page B

remember it well. I did some shopping for my house and the office. My personal items I used my debit card for, the office stuff I used my business card.
    That’s where it had to have happened. Someone jacked my shit from the stupid grocery store. This means that it is a local operation. When I get back from Vegas, I will need to go visit this place and see what’s up. It was a good lead and I was excited to bust the son of a bitch that ripped me off.
    I lay on the sofa and cuddled up with Wrecker. I had a big day tomorrow and needed my rest.
    Didn’t happen. I stayed up til 4:30 watching six straight episodes of Greatest American Hero on Hulu. (believe it or not!)
    8.
    I’ll save you the details of our ridiculously long drive to Vegas. We actually got a nice, early start, but it was killed by traffic, rain and an accident. And my little girl bladder. We had dropped the kids and Wrecker off with Jamie, then hit the road. The average drive time from Bakersfield to Las Vegas should be about four hours or so. Our trip took seven. I wanted to smash my face into the steering wheel on several occasions. I tried my best to occupy the time with many of my humorous observations, mostly commercial themed, like;
    -What’s the deal with commercials for stores that say they’ll beat any price or it’s free? Like, why wouldn’t they just undercut the lowest price by a dollar instead of losing the entire cost of something by giving it away? “What?! That other store has it for two hundred, ninety-nine dollars and ninety EIGHT cents?! Fuck it! I can’t go any lower! Just take the fucking thing!” I don’t even want it! For some reason I just don’t see that happening.
    -Or, If you or anyone you know have died from Whatever Drug, call this number now. If I died…call this number.
    -Or, what’s the deal with every single commercial that features a married couple, the wife is always a hot babe and the husband is a loafy, balding moron? Duhhhh, my wife said she ate Boston Creme Pie every day for a week and lost five pounds. Duhhhhh, where da pie at?! Gah!
    -And like, nobody is being fooled by you saying your shitty oven bake pizza is being confused with an actual delivered pizza from a real restaurant. Come on, DiGornio, we’re not all slack jawed, inbred hillbillies who will believe whatever you tell us.
    -And what’s the deal with people dancing while cleaning? Nobody does this. Ever.
    -And don’t get me started on Pajama Jeans! Have you seen these things? Oh goodness. They’re basically pajama pants that look like jeans so you can wear them in public. It breaks my heart a little more each time I see this commercial. Their slogan should just be: Pajama Jeans; For when you just don’t give a fuck anymore.
    -What’s the deal with lawyers in commercials who wear cowboy hats? Nooooo thank you! You want me to hire this guy? How about I just light my money on fire while sticking large foreign objects up my b-hole? Pretty sure the outcome would be the same
    -Or that pizza roll commercial where the goofy looking stupid mom takes the disgusting rolled up slop from the microwave and the kid’s hand comes smashing through the wall to grab one and the mom just stands there with a dumb ass look on her face and says “Okay…. Okay….” Gah, that commercial makes me want to punch kittens!
    It’s stupid shit like that that makes me convinced that every single marketing firm on the planet should have at least one black dude. I guarantee you, ninety-nine percent of those terrible-terrible commercials we are forced to watch in-between reruns of our favorite shows were thought up, written, produced and created by a room full of crackas. There is no way a black man would stand for some of the stupid shit that rapes my eyes and ears every single day. Black dudes would have cooler ideas; they’d bring back Billy D. Williams to push some shitty malt liquor or something. When some whitey came up with another one of their ridiculous ideas, the