With strides sending mightier gusts than those found in Ferris Bueller's hometown, he darts through the aisles of the mall with the ferocity of a feral cat, the agility of a panther from Carolina and the body awareness of a tenured dermatologist. The wrap around sunglasses donning man blasts through the cotton candy stand in a fit of rage as shreds of sugar hastily soar skyward, tiny heat tracking missiles in the worst fourth of July movie since the often forgotten cult garage hit, Sixteen Romanian Candles. He bounds, nay let's just say that he practically lunges down the walkways, occasionally stopping on a dime to pop his head into a jewelry store to have a quick daydream about moving to Beverly Hills like Weezer would talk about. When he has to go to the bathroom, even the mightiest and most used bookstore calendar worthy of waterfalls turn green with envy over the proliferation of his flow, with more breadth real estate than even the highest level on the jets in one of those hot tubs that you buy in a circus tent at the county fair. You know those crazy people who go out there, into the world, to chase floods on YouTube because they want to go head to head with the movie Twister and also get talked about on Bert Kreischer's solo Open Tabs podcasts? Yeah, well when they heard about Strider's enormous, immediate quantities of spillage, they came a sprinting, pants easily burned well past the brim. Moonwalking around the corner like his life depends on it, our hero runs smack dab into his McDonald's Golden Arch nemesis (to say Strider was lovin' it would be a crime against humanity and shake the entire fast food industry to its nougaty core, making for a delicious but controversial milkshake), the one and only female Paul Blart herself, minus the mustache, awesome means of transportation, successful sitcom career and storied relationship with Adam Sandler and all the great people over at Happy Madison Productions. When Linda the Mall Cop locks eyes with the hero, Strider, (or should I say locked Ray Banses, as she is also a disciple of Jack Nicholson and his many Laker game appearances), well, let's just say the rest is Drunk History. (Allow for a brief sidebar (which also happens to be my favorite kind of candy bar): There should be an interactive Drunk History ride at the Disney amusement parks where you and a couple of your friends, family members and/or co-workers can get together and slam a few pitchers of Hot Toddies before telling a cool story from your personal history, so it will be like a neat slice of your autobiography in case you never get around to writing your autobiography or just want a video to show off at the next family reunion after Aunt Sherry has had a few too many Hot Toddies, then Disney can hire a famous actor or comedian to listen to the recording and film them acting out the story and lip syncing the words...It will be an expensive ride, probably a few hundred dollars at the least just to cover all the overhead costs and contractual issues with SAG-AFTRA, and you won't get the VHS tape of your episode for a few weeks as it will be pored over in the editing bay by some cooped up dudes fueled by nothing other than Mountain Dew Code Red, fast food tacos delivered by Grub Hub and a strong sense of resentment for everyone who has ever loved them. But you know it will definitely be worth it when you finally get to see Jack Black reenacting the time when you hit a walk off grand slam in the little league championship game and crushing all the other kids in the celebratory pig pile. Your welcome, Disney family...I'll be expecting my check with a Mickey Mouse backdrop and Goofy's paw print signature in the mail any day now - that's what I call my FedEx Fund, you know kinda like mailbox money but not as catchy and more narrowly defined.)
Alas, Linda the Mall Cop locks eyes with Strider and the rest is American History X (it's just an endless loop of a skinhead Ed Norton driving the baseline and calling iffy fouls on the opposing team until someone finally calls him out for over-refereeing and the racism gets thrown in the mix too.) No, but seriously, Linda the Mall Cop locks eyes with Strider and immediately begins sprinting in his direction. You see, Strider has not always been on Santa's good list. He had a bit of an incident, you could call it, with Linda and the rest of the security team over at the Hidden Oaks Mall this past summer. It was a wonderfully sunny and brilliantly toasty day in Hidden Oaks and Strider saw it fit to lay out one of his many beach towels right in the middle of the mall, between all the jewelry shops that he likes to pop his head into because they make Rivers of Cuomo flow from stud earring to stud earring. Not only did he pull out a whole set of beach-going material that was worthy of a Costco sales floor, Strider was bold enough to bring his trusty ham radio and put the St. Louis Cardinals game on full torque, much to the chagrin of the Hidden Oaks Association of Jewelers as well as the majority of the establishment's visitors other than the ones who just got back from an eight day baseball road trip where they visited seven Major League baseball stadiums and drove from city to city on a huge bus with a bunch of old people and the gloveful of individuals who had recently traveled up the shaky elevator shaft from the nineteenth century that John Shaft would certainly call in backup for in St. Louis's very own Golden Arch. And it was on that fateful, muggy July afternoon that Strider and the complete staff of security guards at the Hidden Oaks Mall (but especially Linda) became bigger rivals than Alabama and everyone else who is in college football (especially those Hot Toddy tipping, Hotty Toddy chanting good folks in the state to their West). So yeah, then Linda the Mall Cop pretty much just chased Strider out of the mall because he knew that he was only in the fifth month of his six month ban and he speed walked the whole way outta there because he didn't want to spend another night in the Hidden Oaks County Jail drunk tank.
Alas, Linda the Mall Cop locks eyes with Strider and the rest is American History X (it's just an endless loop of a skinhead Ed Norton driving the baseline and calling iffy fouls on the opposing team until someone finally calls him out for over-refereeing and the racism gets thrown in the mix too.) No, but seriously, Linda the Mall Cop locks eyes with Strider and immediately begins sprinting in his direction. You see, Strider has not always been on Santa's good list. He had a bit of an incident, you could call it, with Linda and the rest of the security team over at the Hidden Oaks Mall this past summer. It was a wonderfully sunny and brilliantly toasty day in Hidden Oaks and Strider saw it fit to lay out one of his many beach towels right in the middle of the mall, between all the jewelry shops that he likes to pop his head into because they make Rivers of Cuomo flow from stud earring to stud earring. Not only did he pull out a whole set of beach-going material that was worthy of a Costco sales floor, Strider was bold enough to bring his trusty ham radio and put the St. Louis Cardinals game on full torque, much to the chagrin of the Hidden Oaks Association of Jewelers as well as the majority of the establishment's visitors other than the ones who just got back from an eight day baseball road trip where they visited seven Major League baseball stadiums and drove from city to city on a huge bus with a bunch of old people and the gloveful of individuals who had recently traveled up the shaky elevator shaft from the nineteenth century that John Shaft would certainly call in backup for in St. Louis's very own Golden Arch. And it was on that fateful, muggy July afternoon that Strider and the complete staff of security guards at the Hidden Oaks Mall (but especially Linda) became bigger rivals than Alabama and everyone else who is in college football (especially those Hot Toddy tipping, Hotty Toddy chanting good folks in the state to their West). So yeah, then Linda the Mall Cop pretty much just chased Strider out of the mall because he knew that he was only in the fifth month of his six month ban and he speed walked the whole way outta there because he didn't want to spend another night in the Hidden Oaks County Jail drunk tank.
Buy Chris's books SPONGE CAKE & WHAT'S IN THE FRIDGE? on Amazon
Visit Chris's website christheauthor.com 
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