No. This isn't right. What has the world come to when a person can't get a Mountain Dew at any hour of the day? This is it. Empty handed, you walk over to the security guard. When he isn't looking, you bash him in the head with a nearby sack of dog food, rendering him unconscious.
With his gun in hand, you shoot one shot at the ceiling, and everyone gets on the ground.
"Where is the manager?" You yell in a loud screech. When no one steps forward, you shoot the gun again.
Eventually a balding man steps forward. Sweat stains mark his blue button up, and despite the mustache that covers the majority of his mouth, you can tell that he is frowning. Pointing the gun at him, you tell him to get on the phone and call someone to bring a case of Mountain Dew. He agrees, disappears in his office, and immediately calls the police.
Within fifteen minutes, the place is surrounded. Swat, snipers, two officers at every door, and a dude in a bullet proof vest with a bullhorn are looking at you along with a few hundred spectators. They want to negotiate.
With sweat dripping down your face, you make your requests into the phone. A case of Mountain Dew, a microwave to cook some of these Hot Pockets, and your computer. And fast. You got a raid coming up. Oh, and one last thing, Claire.
In twenty minutes your computer is set up and you're logged in. Claire is there, crying in the corner, and while you aren't happy about her sadness, you're glad to show her what you are so good at. Proudly you describe the healing and potions that fill the screen.
And while you push your way through the raid, the swat team is raiding the place through the ventilation system above the frozen foods. Your chance of living is low, but as you bash away at the keyboard with a girl beside you, you gain the rarest item: pride.
You have achieved everything you wished for in life
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
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