DotTeeVee: NEW Footage Black Friday STAMPEDE Target Store TRAMPLING Buffalo NY 2010

I think we can all agree that atomized materialism is doing wonders to create a healthy society. One need look no further than our proud "Black Friday" traditions to see these forces of good in action. No, I'm not referring to the totally righteous 1940 Boris Karloff film where a gangster's brain takes over a scientist's body and seeks revenge, although having a set of proud folkways that revolve completely around that bit of cinematic brilliance would be totally understandable and laudable. Instead, I'm talking about the mad dash for various foreign-made products that coincides roughly with our secular, non-denominational, this ain't religious so stop asking, end of the year buying and gifting bender. It might seem clunky, but this amorphous blob of cultural soup is the only thing keeping our economy from completely collapsing (more so, I mean) so we need to accept it.

But what about the injuries and mayhem resulting from this completely church-separate dash for little glow screens and big glow screens? Today we'll examine it in the most rigorous and thoroughgoing fashion imaginable by watching a crudely edited video from five years ago and trying to draw some sort of lesson from what, on the surface, is an impenetrable and deeply nuanced issue.

"You're not gonna believe what Donald Trump did this time..."

Like any great moral lesson it starts with an anchor bunny rapidly inhaling, as if in preparation to churn out some bars in a Top 40 song about love or whatever topic is popular these days. Instead, she launches into a rapid-fire exposition dump, I guess so that the "NEW footage" will exist in some context and as such be mostly parseable. It turns out the Friday madness is over, leaving only broken bodies to cart off and tears to dry up. The Sop-Up Saturday "atmosphere" has been damaged, we are told, after the chaos that unfolded the previous evening. Specifically, one man got stuck under "crazed shoppers" and earned a trip to the Obama Card Motel. With that, we abruptly cut to the actual promised footage. Thanks News Four, I feel ready to fully comprehend the coming visual and auditory stimuli.

Three Stooges door humor isn't funny, people get hurt.

Poorly defined blobs of protoplasm rush past a fixed camera, a sort of American version of the Running of the Bulls, just with the bulls replaced with the worst human specimens available and the running an awkward jog toward the waking dreamland of assorted technology as magic from distant, mystical Cathay. I have as much aficionado as the next bro-ham, but can't help but notice that the door is blocked by entangled flesh and bone. There's various shrieking and general biological malfunction while the dazed shoppers that somehow negotiated this consumerist Brandenburg Gate walk off as if nothing is going wrong. 

Someone else will deal with this problem, just like everything. This sort of depraved indifference toward suffering bipeds made in the image of GOD is perhaps more understandable when you remember there's a 20% discount on the new line of moron boxes. 

"Oh my God!" is the highly original sentiment that breaks through the confused babble. Meanwhile, the people getting paid to solve these sort of problems are deploying themselves, no doubt eager to end this eight hour shift nightmare and drink this entire sad episode into oblivion. Also, there's some profanity, but thankfully it gets censored because watching the dregs of humanity tear themselves apart is one thing and hearing someone say "shit" is quite another.

The reason for the season.

A forceful order to "Back up!" is issued and someone actually has the stones to say "No!" in response. Man, the nihilist conspicuous consumption month sure brings out the best in us. More shoppers trickle in like drops from a stuck faucet and some of the philosopher kings in this door-crashing cult express dismay at the actions of their fellow Morlocks, using deleted four-letter vocabulary to do so, of course.

Finally the victims are freed from their predicament, allowing them to display their all-American beer guts and collapse against barriers while showing signs of distress. Would another 10% off selected items make you feel better? 

 Just fall into those carts, that's the best place to heal.

To grind in additional indignity to an already pathetic situation some captions are edited in, including "Tom in obvious pain" with an arrow pointing toward him in case it wasn't clear and "Tom getting trampled at Target on Black Friday 2010." Precious memories, the seeds we plant in our hearts that grow in this fertile soil and bear beautiful flowers as we age and reflect on a life well-lived. 

More shoppers enter, swearing, jumping around and generally displaying the lack of remorse or basic human empathy that is to be expected when a phone is marked down slightly. Then, as ironic counterpoint, the Target logo appears, as if this was a commercial. Sure, some guy who could stand to lose a few pounds has foot-shaped bruises on his back, but consider the value.  The maker of the video then blames Target for the every person against every other person we just witnessed, which I guess is fair. It's their fault for making us want the products so much that we commit crimes, that's logical. 

We close with a close-up shot of some rando who I guess might have been the guy in the video or whatever. It's got a very saccharine "Save the pets" feel to it, that's for sure. For only a dollar a day this man could have just bought that electronic toilet whenever. Won't you help by agreeing to pay those higher prices and maybe shopping in a month that isn't December? 

 My reasoning is so sound I don't need proper formatting.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GxPSCHnjGxA 

Komment Korner   

I wanna punch these people in the faces

I would carry a gun if i were dumb enough to even go out on black friday

Stores like this should be  sued for neglecting to provide crown control

I hope they ALL BURN IN HELL!!!!!!!!!

0:45 to 0:50 HEY THAT's ME Wearing a sabres jersey

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.    

DotTeeVee: Backyard MMA

Remember when professional wrestling was culturally relevant? Ok, ok. I'll rephrase that. Remember when professional wrestling was popular enough that admitting you watched it didn't automatically brand you as a mentally defective troglodyte? What do mean, "No?" Fine. Remember when professional wrestling had enough popularity with the "trailer park located under power lines" crowd that youngsters with big dreams and missing chromosomes would attempt to imitate this proletarian ballet in backyards? Of course you do.

Well, those days are over. As wonderful as it was watching future meth cooks break light tubes over each other and slam themselves on shopping carts stolen from nearby Wally Marts I'm afraid that nothing gold can stay. Kids who score in the bottom third on standardized tests don't want to grow up to be Steve Austin or The Rock or Scotty Too Hotty anymore. Shed a tear, but take heart that something equally asinine and self-destructive has claimed the throne: backyard MMA.

 "Waiting for The Ultimate Fighter to call back, bro."

The first words we hear when this video starts are "look at his nipples" setting the tone for the high standard of maturity and professionalism that we'll be enjoying for the next 3 minutes and 54 seconds. The description informs us that this is a "Heavyweight Title Fight" in the "WGFC." Based on the footage that follows I'm guessing this stands for "Willard Georgia's Fat Contenders" or something along those lines. If you really care they even have their own website (!) but I'm guessing it probably redirects you to endless Ron Paul spam.

The owner of the nipples takes a moment before his huge title match with everything on the line against a human bulldozer that may well leave him crippled for life, assuming he survives, to awkwardly flirt with an unseen female, including a reveal that he'll be teaching her friend kickboxing. Based on what we're about to see I sincerely hope she just paid with "favors" and not actual currency. Anyway, Captain Nipples is actually named Geoff Melendez, which sounds like something a "Random MMA Fighter Namer" might spit out, along with Junior Dos Bisping or "The Werewolf" Donny Coleman.

We are all witnesses.

His opponent is the equally formidable Mike Kiprusoff who has decided to wear a Grateful Dead shirt over his less than impressive physique. The ring, such as it is, consists of some padding and a giant tarp. Everything about this just screams "Six Figure Lawsuit Against the UFC After My Son Died Imitating It." Let's watch.

The heavyweight champion of Crawdad County, Mississippi immediately busts out some Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon shit with an awkward flying kick that draws girlish laughter from the human wreckage viewing this mess. We are later informed he's highly trained in "some form of karate"which he combines with the already mentioned kickboxing as well as wrestling skills learned chasing pigs to be the unbeatable force that he is.

If do right can no defense.

It quickly goes to the ground and it's pretty clear his deadhead opponent is already having some second thoughts about facing such an expert fighter. Only the dream of holding the WGFC strap keeps him in it as the champ applies what might be mistaken for a relaxing massage under different circumstances. For reasons unknown he simply lets his tie-dyed nemesis up, perhaps hoping to wreck him with his ambiguous mastery of karate.

Instead they awkwardly collide like two mighty bulls, gracelessly stagger around a surface that's got freshly fallen leaves on it and then crash back to the hillbilly mat. More ineffectual punches and then Geoff lets the challenger up again. This fight is about as unpredictable as a Catholic Mass.

Must...continue...Jerry would...have wanted that.

We get an edit that probably covers about ten minutes of both gladiators trying to get their wind back, followed by another crazy flying technique from the Champion of the Rural Route. Then another take down. More editing. Cold fear washes over me as I realize what I'm watching is mostly highlights and somewhere there's probably a thirty minute video of these two. 

Back to the jury-rigged mat for what seems like the hundredth time. This time we get a nice shot of the challenger's All American beer belly. In a few years he'll probably be "choked out" by sleep apnea.

These are real athletes!

Onlookers call for their hero to "throw bombs" and compare his adversary's middle to "grape jelly." Looks more like one of those giant plastic bags of milk to my eyes. Poorly realized clobbering ensues as it's clear that we're heading toward the finish. The MMA hippie thrashes about like a bloated, freshly landed fish. The warriors are reminded to "breathe." The Champ gets tired of punching and walks off and his opponent simply gives up, providing a highly satisfying conclusion to this epic clash of skill and will. 

The champion retains and will now bask in the well-earned glory and adulation on earth before taking his rightful place in the fields of Elysium. The defeated challenger can not be called the loser, because there were no losers today, only mighty soldiers whose clash of arms shook the pillars of the world. A good man will tell his son this story. The battle of two heroes that were less than Gods but greater than men. The deeds of strength and courage that echo forever in eternity.

There were giants in the earth in those days.

Komment Korner

the dude with the trunks is a piece of shit who doesnt know what he is doing

who ever sent me a message talking shit i train at a gym in Cleveland ill send you the info come on through

Looks a bit nippy outside. (Ed: But it's hooter inside)

My dude in the red and black shorts, your opponent left himself open for countless submissions. mad naked chokes could have been applied early in the match

Aaron Zehner's first novel The Foolchild Invention is available in e-book format at Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble.