Thoughts from Thrillsville

 I spent the last five days at the Labor Day Weekend Flea Market in Hillsville, Virginia. Hillsville, Thrillsville, now do you understand the post title? There was an early fall day on Friday in Thrillsville as it was 51 degrees when I got there at 6:00 AM to start selling my collection of fine wares. Summer made a strong comeback by Monday with a high of 91. It's supposed to be cooler in the mountains, but they are closer to the sun.

The economy was good in Southwest Virginia this year. The bad news was that the guy from the Trump Store in Pennsylvania wasn't there this year. I was looking forward to making a trade for a "mugshot" tee shirt.

I had an item priced for $10. A guy asked, "Will you take two dollars for that?" I quickly suggested, "Get your ass out of my spaces!"

I saw a bumper sticker on a van in a nearby space that read, "I'm Pro Pipeline. My truck won't run on Unicorn Piss." 

Why don't I ever run into one of those "Trans Men" (Women wanting to be men?) waiting in line for a urinal?

Our civilization has deteriorated to a point where people are mutilating their bodies to attract other psychos. Are there any body parts left to be tattooed or pierced in a quest for attention?

If your thighs are big enough to have a tattoo of the United States with the 435 Congressional Districts shown, you don't need a tattoo artist. You need Weight Watchers or an exercise program.

There are novels with fewer words than some tattoos. Still waiting for someone with MLK's "I have a Dream" speech or Lincoln's "Gettysburg Address" on their skin.

Last, but certainly not least, in twenty years the world's richest man will be in the tattoo removal business as the current crowd gets old. Have you ever seen a seventy-year-old with a tattoo he got at twenty and thought, "Wow! That looks great."? It looks like you labeled a prune with a Sharpie.

Pot is legal in Virginia now. There was a guy down the road a couple of blocks selling seeds. The reported price was $20 for three seeds. People were lined up to buy them. Barnum was right, there really is one born every minute. 

With pot now legal, there was a vendor a couple of rows upwind from me who smoked several times a day. It smelled so bad that I was hoping for a customer with B.O. to come in and kill the pot smell.

Gen Z talks in mostly single syllables. It is the verbal equivalent of "texting". Gen Z is evidently short for "Generation of Zeroes". A Zero walked into my space on Friday and asked, "What kind of merch do you have here?" I tried to keep it in single syllables for him and responded, "Look the f*ck around and see." I guess that no one had ever been that direct with him. He stayed and bought a couple of things. 

That's all from Thrillsville until next year!!