Larry Thack has chosen Randy Ognio as Fayette’s tallest, frowniest commissioner

Today has been all downhill since that lady at Ross told me to have a “blessed day.” I’m just trying to buy a yoga mat and it turns into a religious conclave!
Just after that I motor over to my favorite psychic who is generally pretty accurate about how bad things are going to turn out for me when lo and behold, she’s packed up and left. I thought something was a little off when I approached what appeared to be a clean house with a well-manicured lawn. There’s some sign on the door that claims the place is under new management, but that doesn’t sit right with old Thack. I’m not sure I want a psychic with a manager. I guess a little “reckless eyeballing” did her in. Guess I need to meet the “new guy.” The screen door buckles and snaps and grudgingly opens to expose Madame Barbara. She seems okay: not that into it, wishes I were dead, would rather eat her lunch – very much like a bicycle salesman. Fittingly the place smells like Gypsy water and it comforts me on the spot. After an introductory reading of my horoscope in the AJC, which she confirms as accurate, she outlines the setbacks, obstacles, and downfalls I will encounter throughout the month. Twenty bucks for the affirmation is always a good deal! As I double-pushed the screen door with the inappropriately sized spring she called out to me, “have a blessed day.” Didn’t she hear any of that stuff she just told me?
When you tell someone to “have a blessed day” you’re assuming way too much about him. It may be the most presumptuous and puerile thing anyone has ever said, and here in the South we are forced to endure it many times a day. I would love to have that line replaced with, “have a painless death, sir!”
Again I was beaten down by the comfortless cliché after receiving my lunch of fish tacos at a local unnamed drive thru. You just served me a bag of fried poison – is this your way of apologizing?
I have a friend who spent 11 years in a monastery, graduated from divinity school, and spends countless hours in hospitals giving alms. I’m pretty sure they’re alms, but maybe he’s saying arms or ahms. It’s hard to tell, he’s always rolling his eyes and making a face when he says it. Anyway, the point is my friend Neal Kellogg, who wishes to remain anonymous, spent most of his life dedicated to the pursuit of one day being legally sanctioned to bless water, wine, and bread. And here we have all these amateurs throwing blessings every which way. Neil sacrificed most of his life for the honor of blessing things, now people bless entire days like it’s nothing. Rude.