There's an article on deck for tomorrow about stupid bootleg pro-wrestling toys, so stay tuned. For now, I want to tell you about the grand opening of a new flea market near where I live. Usually, the opening of flea markets isn't big news, but apparently, this time was a little different. Seems my new local flea market is a special flea market. Why else would all the big stars come out for the event?

Click 'more', meet Spongebob...

The new flea market took the stead of a former department store in a lot around 25 minutes from me - a really suicidal position since ever store that's ever rented out space here has dissolved within a few months. The area is neither residential or commercial, it's just right there off the highway pretty much in the middle of nowhere. The only establishments in this lot which houses enough space for at least thirty retail stores are a Chuck E. Cheese and a closeout store, but those are such iconic pinpointed national treasures that not even a shitty location can stop 'em. I don't have high hopes for the new flea market - the rent must be huge for the amount of space they're taking up, and since they're primarily a weekends-only business, I'd bet money on one of the owners setting fire to his baby to collect on the insurance within a month or so.

That isn't to say it's not doing well so far - in fact, hundreds of people actually lined up outside the store for two hours before it opened, hoping to get first dibs on all the assorted low quality stereo equipment and chocolate-dipped pretzels so prominently offered. The cliental of a flea market is truly a window to the big ol' cultural melting pot. More accurately, it's a collection of the world's ugliest, rudest, most alien-esque people on the planet. I don't scare terribly easy but the mugs on some of these creatures made me recollect my very private dream of living alone in an unknown subterranean apartment where food was funneled to me through an intricate pipe system by relatives.

Not all the stores inside were open yet, with around half of the booths still covered by giant sheets of blue plastic. This didn't stop everyone from lifting the plastic to see what was underneath, and I was treated to seeing some guy getting screamed at because he lifted the tarp to find a half-naked Santa Claus preparing for 'Christmas Hour' with the kids. Santa always forgets to act jolly in flea markets. I think it's the overwhelming hybrid smell of Lysol and discarded baby diapers. Either way it was all pretty disgusting, and if the place didn't sell such nice cheap sweaters I may have just blown the place away myself.

In the advertisements, which were so loud and unreal that you would've thought they were promoting the second coming of Christ rather than a flea market, the owners boasted that their new fun spot had a cafeteria, so you could eat while you shop. Here's the cafeteria:

They just kept aside one of the booths and filled it with cheap tables and folding chairs, for use in conjunction with the flea market's pizza vendor. What a great cafeteria! I want to eat here every night! On top of the awesome pizza the scary old ape sells, you now have the opportunity to eat in front of 30,000 nosy passerby shoppers! What fun!

But hey...

They've got hematite rings! Buck fifty! Don't you know they're good luck? I didn't buy one, but for a slight moment, I had debated on stealing a ring. Then I realized that this would've been the stupidest thing to get caught shoplifting for. The way I see it, if you're gonna steal something from a store and risk suffering the indignity of being dragged backstage by some burly apes who were watching the surveillance monitors, it might as well be something cooler than a hematite ring. Too bad the flea market didn't sell talking sneakers shaped like lobsters. That'd be worth the risk.

The place was chock full of costumed characters to help make the experience a little more fun for kids. It was fun for me too - I got to see a guy in a helplessly obstructive Spongebob Squarepants costume accidentally stumble into every fourth or fifth person who walked into the place. Wreaking havoc with no audible way to apologize, the poor guy just handed balloons to everyone he knocked down.

When we got in the car to drive home, some old lady smashed her vehicle of doom into mine. She gave me this look, the kind of grimace that conveys so many emotions in a single expression - it was the kind of look where she was trying to silently explain that she was a feeble old bag who didn't know how to drive. There wasn't any damage to my car, so I just drove on off into the sunset, wondering why senility always seems to start with people forgetting how to hold a steering wheel. 10 and 2'o'clock position, stupid kraut.

And that's my story.