Honestly, just pause for a good 45 seconds and think about the concept of Costco. Sit back in your double-stuffed office chair while stretching out your 42-waste barbecue sauce-stained sweatpants, meanwhile placing your right hand in cupping position on your chin, while looking at the ceiling above you at a nice 60-degree angle to replicate the deep thought process. Just take a moment to inhale the magnificence of this corporate deathstar that has monopolized our inner sense of self-control.
For full effect, download "Monster" by Lady Gaga and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.
No seriously, stop what you're doing this very moment, go to iTunes, download the cross-dressing diva's ballad and really turn it on. The lyrics help accentuate the point that I'm trying to make here.
It's ok... I can wait for you.
The other day, the Rhinestone Cowboy and myself were down in Sodom and Gomorrah prepping to help students move on to higher education. To accomplish this we had to make a trip for supplies at the local Costco, or as others refer to it as, Stuff-Mart. By the way, 10 bucks to whoever can tell me what I am referencing in that last sentence. While we were walking around the warehouse of groceries and patio furniture, we simply awed at the grandiose culture that we could be apart of if we only took advantage of the products being shoved down our tracheas.
$4.99 for a 3-pound bag of cheese-packed tortellini? Get out of town! $15.57 for an ergonomically-stuffed thigh pillow? You bet your left nut I need one of those. Only $1,340 for a neon green go-cart with a four-cylinder engine on it? Where have you been all my life? Get your leather-strapped chassy into this shopping cart right now! We walked all over the store admiring all of the new and exciting ways that we could improve our lives for just the small fee of $49.99 a year. This store must be some kind of shopping utopia. How can women hold back those purchasing urges inside these walls? It makes no sense!
Then there were the samples. Oh the glorious 3-inch paper plates filled with spoonfuls of deliciousness that I am convinced Mary Poppins stirred up in her basement of delectable goodness. I'm talking about the whole wheat crackers with Nutella spread across them. Or the chicken lasagna with a hint of basil nestled into its Italian flavor. And across from that, the bacon wrapped sausage fresh off the grill. And trust me, everything is better with bacon. Rock Steady knows about this.
Amidst the smorgasbord orgy of an elaborate lifestyle concocting in my sample-stuffed subconscious, I was suddenly struck with an epiphany.
Dustin Hoffman: "I think you mean an apostrophe." (LTT)
The piece of wisdom intermingled between the powdered-sugar glazed graham crackers, and three-dozen tube socks for $4.99, is that Costco is secretly killing us off. One by one. And there is nothing that we can do about it. You see, Costco makes us want things. Things that have no importance or value in the necessities of life. Things that we have never thought about before we saw them advertised at the lowest bulk price possible. And so we want them. We need them. As I have stated in the rules of Brocktrine before, we always want what we can't have. When we see that inflatable dining room set for $18.55, we have to have it. We need to have it.
There's no escaping Costco either. Once you sign the dotted line for a membership, you are hooked for life. You might as well try and sell your soul to a VooDoo witch doctor from Jamaica, because you're never getting out of that contract at all. And even if you did try and void your deal with them, you know that they have a stay-at-home mother of 17 kids hiding in the back who would intimidate the heck out of you with her coupon book and platter of deviled eggs samples.
Conniving Costco Rep: "Are you sure you want to leave Costco? If you leave, you won't have access to this Ninja blender for only $79.99. Here, take a look at this meanwhile having this Chicago-style Meatloaf that I just grilled up. It's to DIE FOR!"
There's not way out. We're all hooked for life. But I don't care. This is an addiction that I have no shame in admitting. Forget trying to join a Costco self-help group that meets on Tuesday nights and wallows in each others confessions of overdraft charges on our credit cards for the recent purchase of the Yin Yang polyester throw rug. Just sit back, enjoy the advertised intoxication, and shove a chocolate almond-covered ice cream bar down your throat for only $1.62.
Your name is America, and you have a problem.