So we piled into the Chevy,
Hopes ablaze, money ready:
Money that we would exchange for things we didn’t have before.
Discount stores shamelessly robbing,
My poor little wife was sobbing,
Sobbing about the lousy choices, when she knew there’s so much more.
She got the facts from Channel Four.

“There’s a Spencer’s!” I would cajole,
She looked at me like I’m an a-hole,
“Spencer’s is but all a glitter, mirrors, smoke, and nothing more.”
Then my forehead started sweating,
I don’t see my tool me getting,
I don’t see a christmas tree surrounded by my tools galore.
I glared at her and said no more.

She said “There’s a Hair/Nail Center!”
The next exit I should enter,
“Put the pedal to the metal!”
Crossed 15-20 lanes, or more.
Speedometer was on mach 7,
Our wheels touched down in Mall-o-Heaven:
One-hundred-seven jillion different kinds of shops and stores.
(And parking spots, and cuspidores.)

“Smokers here are always welcome!
If you want some beer, we’ll sell some!
Everything you ever wanted, right here on this spotless floor!
Every kind of food imagined!
Have you tried Goo Gai Pan Cajun?
Knicknacks, jewelry, leather, feathers, bonsai trees, and ferns and spores.”
But not a single My Tool Store.

Suddenly my mind was wrenching,
Like a fist, my brain was clenching!
Clenching and unclenching while my mind went blank as pauly shore.
Afro-Santas Christmas “Rapping”
My whole Noel concept snapping.
“Is there somewhere on this Earth where I can get what I adore?”
Let us leave here, poor favore.