I laughed and laughed when I saw this. Alan didn't like it nearly as much as I did; he kinda chuckled and said it was funny, but I literally howled with laughter the first time I saw it. I'm up to my 7th or 8th viewing now. If stuff like this happened at my Wal-Mart, I might actually shop there. Then again, I haven't set a toe inside Wal-Mart in more than five years, so maybe stuff like this does happen. These kids need to come to the Target near my house.

Best part besides the actual song:

Grumpy Manager: "You have nothing better to do than hang out at Wal-Mart?"
Funny Kid: "Not really, no."

Then again, maybe it was funnier to me because I'd lived through the experience, along with my brother, of Boob-Job Grandma and Baby Got Back. Some years ago, we were at the Red Lobster in Conyers - and if I might digress for a moment, don't you just KNOW some tale of hilarity, weirdness, redneckery and drunkenness (if not all of the above) is sure to follow, with an intro like "One night at the Red Lobster in Conyers"???

So Bo and I are at the Red Lobster innocently chowing on some lobsters and shrimps; perpendicular to us is a table full of people that most probably (based on non-similar appearance, varying ages, ethnicities, etc.) worked together as opposed to, say, a group of relatives. The group had people of both genders as well - so it wasn't a bachelorette party or anything. Not that I'd expect someone to have their bachelorette party at Red Lobster, but in terms of explaining this behavior, well - it wasn't that.

In the group were a couple of 20ish girls who were giggling a lot about their cute waiter, continually finding ways to summon him mainly so they could watch him walk away and admire his butt - which we knew because they were not being at all quiet and shy about their purposes, or their admiration. No effort or eavesdropping on our part was required; they were plenty loud and plenty excited. Leading the cheering for the cute-hineyed waiter was Boob-Job Grandma. She was in her late sixties/early seventies and either had recently had a boob job or had purchased a Madonna cone bra (perhaps both) because she had some seriously perky, pointy action going on up top. The Pointy Boobs were very obvious even to me and The Sibling, neither of whom are the type to check out 70-year-old chick racks, y'know?

Anyway, Boob-Job Grandma had at least two Alotta Coladas that we saw, perhaps more, and was not only doing things like dropping her napkin so cute-hineyed waiter would bend over to pick it up, but mauling the poor little guy sitting beside her. He was a pretty hot younger dude who had a Taye Diggs look going on with the snappy GQ clothes and the shaved head. Boob-Job Grandma kept snaking her hand up this guy's back and over his smooth shaved head. Every time she did this, which was A LOT, or whenever she or one of the giggling girls summoned the waiter, Boob-Job Grandma would belt out in a shrill voice (complete with backwoods accent) "I like big butts and I cannot liiiie! You otha bruthas cain't dee-ny!" Unfortunately, this seemed to constitute the entirety of her knowledge of the song lyrics so she was forced to repeat the refrain. Over and Over. To eleventy.

After a certain point, Bo and I dropped all pretense of not laughing at her and her table's antics. It was great. I'm so glad we didn't opt for a more haute restaurant because we'd have SO missed out, and Boob-Job Grandma has become a legend in our personal lexicon. Every so often, when one of us has taken a sip of soda or beer, the other will screech, complete with hillbilly accent, "I like big butts and I cannot lie!" in hopes of making liquid spew from our sibling's nose. But of course we are very refined and well-mannered, so we hardly ever do this in public. At least not at fancy places like the Red Lobster.