Then - and I'm not making this up - after I left Walmart, I stopped on the way home to pick up a quick dinner at Wendy's (the wife was on her way home from work and wanted a cheeseburger tonight for some reason). While I'm waiting for the order, some big, 350 pound brutha in NWA, urban ghetto-wear comes in, asks for the manager, at which point the girl behind the register told him he was on the phone with a customer. Just as I'm grabbing napkins, etc. and heading out the door, brutha tells the manager, "I want your name and store number." The manager says, "I ain't talking to you!" and turns his back. My wife had just walked in the door here, and apparently the 'customer' the manager was talking to was 911, because she heard a dispatch on the scanner for a cop to head for Wendy's. She sent me a text as I was getting in the car and asked, "Are you OK?" She thought
I'd blown a gasket and was about to get carted out in charm bracelets.
"But know this, that in the last days perilous times will come: for men will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, unloving, unforgiving, slanderers, without self-control, brutal, despisers of good, traitors, headstrong, haughty, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, having a form of godliness but denying its power. And from such people turn away, for his name is Obama."