Rush Hour 2: Retail Returns
That dirty, smelly jacket
Lying on your filthy closet floor
Smelling of smoke
Collecting dust since 1984.
Now you bring it to me
With a new receipt?
You think I won’t see
Through your wicked deceit.
You stand there with a smile
And not a smattering of grace
You stand there, looking at me
Lying to my face.
Yes, I do see through
This scheme that you have hatched
For you see, you stupid, stupid fool,
The SKU number doesn’t match.
This smug and shifty refunder
Doesn’t know what is in store,
So reaching under the register,
I grab my Magnum .44.
I give him my widest
Most fiendish, evil grin
And prepare to purge my store
Of this cardinal retail sin.
I shoot him point blank
Right between the eyes
Blowing the bastard backwards.
Through the air he flies
Blood splatters
On customers nearby
As some flee in terror
Others start to cry.
The refunder lays dead
Bleeding on the floor
As many people, terrified
Run frightened from the gore.
Those who do not run
Can only stand and freeze
While I smile politely and say,
“Next customer, please.”
02/22/93