Come Get My Maxims

The past two times I've moved, I've had a couple boxes of Maxim/Stuff magazines that I collected. Why the hell would I keep these? Maybe I thought they would be worth something. Maybe I couldn't bear to part with something I invested so much time and money in. Or maybe I thought I might re-read them someday. But now the boxes just sit in my room taking up space and it's annoying the hell out of me. Who am I kidding? I don't need these anymore.

MYCAPSLOCKANDSPACEBARAREINCAHOOTS.

When stores started out, you could go into say, Ernie's General Store, and get yourself a big ol’ bag of flour or a giant can of soup. But really, Ernie would get it for you.



All the shit was behind the counter and you would tell him what you want, then he would climb his feeble old ass up the ladder and fetch it for you, you would cut a penny in half to pay Ernie for your groceries (remember, shit was cheap back then), then he would put everything in giant paper bags for you.