I'm not one bit sorry
my grocery tab's so large
Enviro-guilt's diminshed
by being overcharged
Free-range brie I'm scarfing
Designer tea I chug
All the while remaining
self-satisfied and smug
Coffee that's grown on shady ground, yeah
Broccoli's fifteen bucks a pound, yeah
I pilfer the olive buffet
'Cause I gotta say
The pri-ces suck at Whole Foods
They buy from local farmers
To charities, they give
Produce richly flavored
with many adjectives
Yuppies stuff the Prius
with healthy treats galore
Forget to bring your bags, and
you're banished from the store
I let them tell me what to eat, yeah
Where profit and sanctimony meet, yeah
(I'm) jonesin' for spelt-flour scones
but I'd need a loan
The pri-ces suck at Whole Foods
Herbal anti-
oxidants I trust
I may yet get cancer
But never will I rust
Savin' the planet by degrees, yeah
by shopping among celebrities, yeah
'Cause no ordinary shmuck
buys Seinfeld's duck
The pri-ces suck at Whole Foods
Lately the bill here gives me cramps, yeah
Wish I weren't payin' with food stamps, yeah
I think I should load up my cart
back at Wal-Mart
('cause) the pri-ces suck at Whole Foods
The FuMP
2009-08-04
Artist
Project Sisyphus
You know, when a song's got the word "suck" in the title that kinda tells you a lot right there, doesn't it? Like Kelly Clarkson's "My Life Would Suck Without You." Perhaps you've seen the endearing video, in which the two antagonists' property-destroying quarrel stops, sadly, just short of a homicide that might rid the world of future Kelly Clarkson songs.
This frustrating, dysfunctional relationship is like me and....well, Whole Foods Market. I really want it to work, but often wonder if we're right for each other. Even popping in for a quick bite from their food court is never simple. After hiding my gas-guzzling SUV at the back of the parking lot and tossing a sweater over my "Nuke the Whales" T-shirt, I sneak into the store, dodging the guy outside with a clipboard and an agenda. The salad bar's priced by weight, a business model not likely to work to my advantage, but whatever.
The real problem comes after my meal's finished, and I must run the gauntlet of choosing a number of confusing recycling options. Usually, unable to determine what is "#2 PETE" from "Compostible," I just take it all with me, to be returned respectfully to Mother Earth along the highway from the window of my smog-belching chariot.Cari Golden stars as our frustrated, overcharged eco-shopper. And thanks to Below Average Dave for his many clever ideas on this which I completely ignored.
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