Why go to the doctor when you can do your own medical tests? New to Wally’s Pharmacy Department, pick your nose and use our hose to see what troubles your throat may pose. Buy one, get one half-off (but never free!)
“Works like a charm!” – Lifted truck salesman and Juggalo, Brandon Dixon, Peotone
This toilet seat is not only buy one, get one half off (but never free), but it attacks people randomly using Wally’s patented cheap brackets. Why take a boring dump when you can take an annoying one?
“This is an awesome toilet seat!” – Communal narcadoodle, photo-op enthusiast and entramanure Bernadette Cacca, Manteno
These mobile phones are three for $1000 (must by three). Why buy a boring mobile phone? Wally’s exclusive D-Mobile phone plays with itself when you are aren’t looking, dialing random numbers and opening random crapApps. Maybe it will dial 911 when you least expect it!
“D-Mobile is a great phone. Trust me, I sell them myself!” — Wally Green’s floor clerk Robbie Hurlbutt, Kankakee
Wally Green is so proud of his inventions, which he made after graduating bottom of his class with a double major in Engineering and Pharmacy Sciences. He now proudly sells these things in Wally Green’s Pharmacy Stores all over Kankakee County.
Wally invented the double zipper — along with superfluous pockets — to increase prices without increasing functionality. Who needs that, right? Wally figured, who cares if bags were to unzip when you zip them, and zip when you go to unzip them? As long as Wally makes his money at his stores, he is happy because he loves cold hard cash.
Half-ply toilet paper
Have you gone into a store or stayed in hospital and gotten enraged at the dirt cheap toilet paper supplied for the bathrooms? Thank Wally Green. He invented Half Ply Toilet Paper to save money for stingy retailers who do not care about their customers, but do care about cutting costs and increasing their bottom line. It breaks off one piece at a time, but who cares if the customer or patient cannot get it off the roll, if Wally is not the one peeing?
Extra-Clingy Pad Wrappers
Have you had a hard time getting pad wrappers to stay in the garbage and not fly away? Thank Wally Green. Wally invented a way to make sure that pads cost the same but are cheaper to make. He has been sellingthem for the same price in his stores, of course, and did not care how frustrating it can be for the wrappers to fly up, up, and away in the air, even without wings to soar.
Deerfield-born ladies’ man, drugstore owner and wacky inventor Wally Green wants all his customers to know he cares. After partnering with corrupted contractor Terry Reynolds of Albion, Indiana, he is doing some “CONSTRUTION” to make-over his stores.
These shopping carts play the brown note when you get within 10 feet of the store’s door, making you crap your pants to punish you for not putting the cart away
404 COUPONS NOT FOUND
These 404 page coupon booklets are designed with only some pages numbered, confusing Wally’s customers on purpose because Wally hopes they will give up and die trying before finding their coupon of choice.
CLICKETY-CLAPPETY INTERCOM MUSIC
Do you like hearing the same 15-second piano loop every time you call Wally Green’s pharmacy? Wally partnered with the same firm who produced every single commercial that ran on television for the past three years to create 30-second loops using only finger snaps, hand-claps and “boom” sounds…the latter lifted from the Queen song “We Will Rock You.” It is the only music more repetitive than that of pop singer John Mayer. Marshall Stacks will be installed outside every store to make sure his neighbors hear it too.
TRAP DOOR CHILD SEATS
In an effort to save the almighty dollar, Wally Green’s is ceasing to repair the child-seat straps in their carts. At random, your coffee, purse or child will get trapped in the cart, or maybe even your fingers! We promise to keep delivering our buy one, get one half off (but never free) sales, and cutting expenses at all costs enables us to keep offering these sales to our beloved customers!
Multiplex clerk, fedora-sporting neckbeard and Communal narcadoodle Damien Hurlbutt desperately wants to impress his new girlfriend, Rachel Shelley, into coming back to visit him in Bourbonnais, Illinois from Detroit. However, he is as broke as a joke from his toy hoarding.
He comes up with a plan. Damien dials up his vulnerable narcissist brother Robbie and asks if he can steal some identities. He offers some of his duplicate record albums as payment.
“I can part with my poorer copies of ‘Broken’ by The Favorites, my extra Walter Egans and all my Jewel records. I can throw in some Katy Scarys if you want, too…” Damien explains to Robbie, a Kankakee Elvis impersonator and pharmacy clerk.
Robbie jumps at the opportunity to add to his own hoard.
Robbie gets busy calling local con man Pat Splatt and the two devise a way to break into local sweetheart, single lady Kitty Bee’s computer to steal her identity. Feeling dejected from having been rejected in 1993 after Pat had made a pass at her, Pat decides Kitty is a perfect target for moronic revenge.
Robbie successfully steals Kitty’s credit card information and buys 18 bottles of dehydrated water and six tubs full of fat-free oil from Wally Green’s online mall. Damien thought these new inventions would impress Rachel in her fruitless efforts to lose weight, and who else to mansplain but Bourbonnais neckbeard Damien Ulysses Hurlbutt? “Throw in some cubic zirconia rings. She’ll never know they’re fake,” a bulbous Damien commands his brother Robbie.
“You got it.” Robbie smirks, a crooked grin fills half his face, almost touching one of his blue-black mutton chops.
Damien tips his black fedora, the one with which he hatfished Rachel. After all, how would the public — whom he works so hard to impress — know his “medium” bald spot takes up his entire head? He enters the washroom and sits on the potty.
“What kids?” A quizzical Robbie asks Damien.
“Oh kids. Ohhh kids!”
A loud splash is heard from the washroom.
“Pheeeew!” Damien cries and waves his hand by his bum.
He emerges and sprinkles his newly washed hands all over Robbie and roommate Andy’s living-room carpet, using it as a bathmat, and at Robbie as well.
“I just left a huge stinker in your toity. Would you like to see it?” a proud Damien boasts.
“Just leave the door open and don’t close it if I am in there.” Robbie says.
“You’re not Elvis, just an impersonator.”
Two days later, the stolen goods arrive at Damien’s Bourbonnais apartment. “Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!” Damien exclaims as his next-door neighbor gives him the stinkeye.
Damien wraps the stolen, useless crap into prank boxes, boxes inside larger, nested boxes, and oddly shaped packaging, taping each package with hard-to-open packing tape to extend his desired cliffhanging effect on Rachel Shelley.
“I can’t wait to videotape Rachel, the expression on her face when she opens all those gifts from ME!” Damien says to himself, wearing a huge grin.
Damien finishes up his hours of taping, wrapping and more taping. He tests out his camcorder and memory card. He is all set for his catch.
Rachel walks in the next day, much later than Damien anticipates. Damien tips his fedora. “Hello, M’lady, Madame.”
“Good to see you, do I get a hug?”
The two embrace.
“Turn around and close your eyes. I am going to take your hand, honey puddin”.
“I told you to stop calling me that.”
“But I say it because I love you. You’re so little and dainty.”
“Grrrr.” Rachel emits.
“Now take my hand. I have a little surprise for my honey puddin.”
Damien begins secretly rolling tape and then takes Rachel’s hand, leading her into his cluttered kitchen.
“Now open your eyes, M’lady.”
Rcahel opens her eyes, displaying her typical blank expression.
“I bought all these gifts for YOU!”
Rachel cracks half a grin.
“Now I want you to open this one first.”
Rachel opens the huge, nested box.
“Dehydrated water? Ohhh-kayyyy…”
“Yeah. I thought you might like it. I bought it at Wally Green’s. It was buy one get one half off. Now open this one.”
Damien shoves another large box over to Rachel. She opens box after box, finally revealing its contents.
“Fat free oil?”
“Yeah. You could use it to cook. After all, you need to lose weight and I want to help!”
Rachel begins to scowl.
“Oh, now you will really love this. Women love small boxes.”
Damien hands Rachel another box, which she also struggles to open.
“Why do you use so much tape? Packing tape too? Did you run out of regular tape?”
“Oh this is regular tape.” Damien snickers. Rachel finally gets the package open. “I got you a sparkly!” Damien exclaims. “Not only one but 17 of them!”
Rachel tips the box on its side and reads the label. “Cubic…zirconia.”
Damien’s face turns cherry red.
Music is heard from the other room.
“That’s my phone.”
Rachel gathers the boxes and walks away. Damien checks the tape. Rachel walks back in and Damien jumps, startled, and hides what he was doing.
“Oh hey, I gotta go. Thanks for the stuff.”
“Yeah honey puddin. Where you going?”
“Out.” Rachel declares and heads out with the stuff Damien gave her.
Damien is all alone. Sirens are now wailing from the distance, getting louder as the seconds pass. Damien is shaking but trying not to show it. A knock is heard at his door. It is just what he fears.
Rachel arrives at her lover Leon Peeone’s apartment.
“Hey Leon, I got some crap to sell so we can get some more hard stuff.” The two laugh but not for long. Neither one of them are too bright.
Have you been wanting to create a pop tune but are too lazy to write music? Are you the type of person who goes for quantity over quality? Wally Green has the machine for you!
Pop music producers have been using it for awhile, but this is the first time they’re admitting it. Wally’s Music Machine is a tabletop electronic device, made by by Kankakee pharmacy owner, wacky inventor and wannabe ladies’ man Wally Green:
It randomly generates pop songs at the push of a button using Wally’s patented AI (Automated Insipidness). Try it!
Hear what Wally’s customers have to say:
“It’s as easy as pressing 1-2-3,” says a record producer for one of the Big 5 record labels, speaking on condition of anonymity. “Just power the device on, press ‘start’ and out comes a song.”
You can even create remixes using the device. “Just pop in a CD and it does all the work for you.” he adds. You can even add effects, using plug-ins like the overused Antares Auto-Tune, and built-in preset to crank it up higher than needed on purpose.
The record producer states that, because of it is so easy to use, producers of Top 40 pop songs use it. “You don’t have to be a nuclear physicist to run it; you don’t need have graduated 6th grade to make a pop song. It changed my life. Now I pay my girlfriend to wipe my bum for me..”
This reason, explains an executive for the RI Double A, is why so much pop music sounds alike.
“I may live all by myself in my ginormous mansion in Beverly Hills, surrounded by sacks of cash and a fridge fulla caviar. I may go for weekly high colonics. If the stations play these songs enough, kids will like it…no matter how terrible it is. If we can minimize the amount of time spent producing a record, we can increase our profits exponentially. That’s all we want, that’s all the label wants. Who cares about art or paying the artist? Cha-ching.”
Buy your Music Machine at a Wally Green’s on a corner near you. Or not.
“Why does your brother Damien keep buying pool toys in the middle of Winter?” Wally Green asks his Illinois pharmacy-chain clerk, Kankakee Elvis impersonator and covert narcissist, Robbie Hurlbutt.
Robbie says nothing, chooses to ignore his boss and keeps on stocking shelves as he hopes to leave early so he can skip out on closing.
“Has he moved a body or something?” Wally says of Robbie’s equally creepy and narcissistic brother Damien.
Robbie ignores Wally, finishes stocking and sneaks out the door while the store owner is not looking so he can head down to the bar. First, he has to meet his speedball dealer.
Robbie, high on uppers, spends 20 minutes chatting up the bartender, while other customers grow impatient and angry as he is holding up the mixing of their cocktails and the pouring of their beers.
Robbie downs his downers and chases them with prescription painkillers he stole from his elderly mother PJ.
The inebriated Elvis impersonator texts his brother Damien, hoping he will join him and take him home, however after multiple selfies and text messages saying how much he loves his brother, Damien does not reply.
Cinema-13 clerk, bulbous neckbeard and communal narcadoodle Damien Hurlbutt strokes his dayglow-orange facial coiffe, and sets out a clipboard containing a sign-up sheet requesting email addresses for a newsletter. A theater customer walks up to the movie theater counter and asks what the newsletter is about. “It’s just a newsletter,” the sneaky narcissist Damien replies in his typical smug tone.
After the picture finishes its run and the ushers escort all the guests, Damien collects the newsletter sign-up sheet and heads to his Bourbonnais neckbeard-nest to sleep on the floor. Before he can retire for the night, he get annoyed over the mess of texts and photos from his brother Robbie. Damien would rather sleep in his mess of plastic tubs, and boxes of the things he loves more than people, than head back to Kankakee to pick up a drunk. Thinking he can gain something from helping his brother, he drives down to the Kankakee bar at which Robbie is performing slurred Elvis Presley Karaoke. The two bumbling idiots get into Damien’s beat-up van and head home.
“What about my purple clown car?” Robbie asks Damien.
“Get it tomorrow.”
Damien gets a text from a coworker whose birthday is coming up soon. Knowing well it is illegal to text and drive, Damien messages his coworker, lovebombing her about the $50 gift card he is going to buy her, bragging about the surprise she clearly expressed she did not feel comfortable accepting.
After nearly crashing, Damien flips off the other driver and heads to Robbie’s Kankakee apartment, crashing on his floor instead.
Damien and Robbie wake up to snow on the ground. Damien retells the same story about his father N. Ron’s obsession with the weather channels he has already bored Robbie with at least 80 times now. Robbie leaves the room, stumbling on record albums he dumped all over the floor to get to the bathroom. Even though he is terrified of getting locked in the washroom while pooping, Robbie wants to get away from Damien.
Robbie emerges, and Damien pulls out the newsletter sign-up sheet, filled with names and email addresses. “Hey Robbie, my number-one brother? I would love to ask a favor from you. Can you contact Pat Splatt and try to sell him these email addresses? I collected them to send out messages getting out the good things us tender-hearts at the Bourbonnais Men’s Rights Activist (MRA) Club can do to help us men fight misandry. I would like to sell him a copy because I need the money to buy my coworkers gifts. I spent my paycheck already on action figures.
“What’s in it for me?” Robbie asks his equally self-centered brother Damien.
“Well, our theater has an extra Gothic Diana Ross poster from when we sponsored her show a couple years back.”
“Sold.” Robbie grins ear-to-ear and dials up Kankakee criminal and email spammer Pat Splatt.
The Hurlbutt brothers drive over to Pat Splatt’s flat, where the straggly long-haired Pat is busy harvesting emails from the Internet using his Spam-O-Matic computer program. The three group together to organize their petty crime.
“Damien, I can pay you per email reply, that’s it.”
“Oh come now!”
“Oh go now, Damien. That is my final offer. Take it or leave it. I don’t have to offer you anything.”
“I know, I know, I know…” Damien says like a broken record, mimicking a certain furniture commercial emanating from Champaign.
Damien reluctantly hands Pat the photocopied sign-up list containing contact information he collected from unsuspecting moviegoers.
Damien then heads to Wally Green’s to buy more pool toys and chucks them in his bathroom. After whizzing, he washes his hands with far more water than he needs and sprinkles the water all over the bathroom floor, leaving on the bathroom light and fan because he does not care.
Damien begins typing up his MRA “newsletter” in a word-processor program on his 10 year old desktop computer, resting atop a wooden folding table, the only piece of furniture in the entire room. The rotund neckbeard emails his diatribe while wearing his graphic tee displaying the text:
it to you
But I can’t
it for you.”
A few days go by, however nobody takes Damien up on his offer to join the Bourbonnais MRA Club. Nobody clicks on the ads for the 21 Conference either.
Damien realizes he needs to get ready for work now so he can make it on time after taking his two-hour shower.
Mr. Hurlbutt walks into the theater barely on-time. His boss, theater owner Konrad Teirant, calls him into his office.
Damien’s heart sinks and he utters a melodramatic “gulp” as he walks over to Konrad’s office.
“Damien, you really dropped the ball this time. I have been receiving numerous complaints from customers who have been getting emails about some misogyny club.”
“This is unacceptable. They told me they signed up for a newsletter here? I never ordered you to or anyone else to put out a call for contact information. Do you want me to get sued?”
“Well…no” an embarrassed-because-caught Damien tells his boss.
“Damien, you have been working here a long time. You know that if we want to gather contact information so we can sell it, that would come from me. And only so I can profit, not you Damien. You’re not that important. Not at all. In fact, I can fire you at any time. I am telling you that because I am your friend. Oh by the way, why do you wear that dumb fedora? It looks stupid. And wash your beard. It smells. Don’t tell anyone we had this meeting. Go home and stay home the rest of this week. I will call you about next week’s hours.”
An excited Damien rushes home to play with his pool toys because he is happy he has the week off, not wondering at all if his boss will even call him back to work the next week.
Kankakee’s very own pharmacy owner, wacky inventor and wannabe ladies’ man Wally Green loves to make green. Run your business into the black with his new wholesale buys!
Do your customers poop too much? Make your customers think twice. Meet FussPot – the toilet that fusses over everything put in it! Wally’s FussPot only accepts up to four pieces of Wally’s special half-ply toilet paper. Failure to comply with the FussPot’s demands results in overflow errors.
Do you want your customers to roar? Why spend money paying your minimum-wage staff to put something useful like paper towels in your washrooms, when you can install Wally’s Noise Machine instead? A V8 engine blows out way too much air, making all the noises while it sort-of dries customers’ hands if the stars align just right.
Meanwhile, the Noise Machine spreads their germs all over the place. Upgrade to Wally’s Deluxe Model powered by none other than a jet engine!
Do you own a coffee shop? Why go the extra mile stocking cup lids which actually stay on, when you can buy a cheap alternative? Try Wally’s patented Lidiots — the sippy-cup lid for adults!
Never buy a straw again. The hole on the side of the lid makes it harder for customers to put their straws in, and stay in, so you can hopefully go cheap by making your cafe patrons drink out the sippy-hole instead!
Watch as your coffeehouse customers rage when their favorite drink spills — since these cheap alternatives not only slop their five dollar lattes out the sippy-hole — but also slide off way more easily than our durable, slightly more expensive alternatives with holes in the middle of the lid. Buy one box, get one half off! (But never free)
Download Wally Green’s CrApp and submit your purchase orders now!