Me and The Mall Cop
Since the dawn of time, memes have been circulating around the world. From "Kilroy was Here" to the latest meme on Instagram. However, with every good meme, there is a bad meme. And with every bad meme, there is a shit meme. Dat Boi, doge, and others have been circulating in the bowels of the Internet, such as Facebook and clone Vine websites. These memes are dead, but people still use them. Why? Nobody knows.
However, when all the planets are aligned with a total lunar eclipse, one special meme rises from the graves. He's 290 lbs, he works in a Las Vegas mall as a mall cop, and has hypoglycemia. His name is Paul Blart, and he's the legendary King of Shit Memes. Memologists studied this anomalous man since the release of the 2009 film. However, after 2015, he disappeared.
But this is not the story of an obese mall cop, this is the story of me, a 19-year old college student. I am a sophomore in the University of Delaware, and work in a local Wawa as a janitor. Terrible job, I am aware. But hey, I get hoagies.
So, why did I bring up shit memes? Well, it all happened in July 2017, when I got a copy of Paul Blart 3.
Chapter 1: The Bootleg
April 17, 2017. I loved thrift-shopping, so with $50 in my wallet, I went down to a couple of Goodwills. You never know what you can find in this fancy lil' store. I found VHS tapes of Super Bowl commercials back in the 90s, and even an Xbox 360. Granted, the white piece of plastic didn't work, but the tapes were enjoyable.
But it was that day, when things were peculiar. I got a PlayStation 3 for $39.99 with a copy of God of War II for $5.00. I was scanning for some movies to watch with this new game console, but there was nothing special. Shit movie, shit movie, German porno, and fucking Jillian Michaels exercise DVDs everywhere. It was an unlucky day, of course, but there was one movie that caught my eye. It was a cheap jewel case, with the only piece of labeling was the Goodwill sticker: $1.00. Just for curiosity, I checked the case. A burned single-layered DVD, with the title "PAUL BLART 3". It was more clichéd than a Jeff the Killer fanfiction, and I chuckled at the sight of this stupid little disc. But hey, $1. Nothing is lost when the only other options for DVDs are Adam Sandler films or a fucking exercise program with a screaming tiger of a woman. So I bought the bootlegged DVD, hoping there was some entertainment value.
I arrived home, with all of my content in a plastic bag. I hooked up the PlayStation on my television, and it worked like a charm. Sweet. With that out of the way, I played God of War 2. It was a fun game, spent a couple of hours or so on it. I don't know how long I was playing, but before I knew it, it was 9:00 PM. Dinner time. I cooked myself a cheese sandwich, and I plop the bootleg in the PS3.
The movie was nothing special. It was no story of Ben, or a man in black. It was just Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2 with Arabic subtitles that you can't turn off. Oh well. After watching the movie, I turned off and went to bed. 94 minutes wasted, it was not funny, and it was shitty. Now that I think about it, I wasted a dollar on a terrible movie with Kevin James. However, out of all the times I could've watched the movie, it was the day the planets were aligned. It was the day of Blart.
According to memeologists, whoever watches a Paul Blart film on the day of Blart, they are cursed, and are forever known as the Prince of Shit Memes. They will obey under the King, and if one does not kill the person that cursed them with the DVD within 24 hours, their soul is taken away by the Meme God Duane to Meme Hell, and their bodies will be nothing but automatons. Automatons that go on Facebook and post unfunny memes. What a horrible way to die.
Chapter 2: Knighted to Princehood
Midnight, April 18, 2017. I was browsing memes on my iFunny account, chuckling at the shit that I see. They were mostly reposts, but they were funny, I guess. After downloading a couple dozen memes into my folder, I heard a knock at the front door. Strange, I don't recall having guests, let alone at midnight. Nevertheless, I checked it out. I open the door.
"Evening, sir."
Either I was high as a kite from a nonexistent drug, or I am hallucinating from sleep deprivation. I shook my eye, hoping Paul Blart goes away. He didn't. I debated on screaming or running, or both, but before I could do anything, he spoke again.
"Sir? Are you alright? You seem dazed."