The Dollar Tree is not fun. There's no joy in the place. No shopping excitement. It's full of slump-shouldered old ladies and tweakers and Mexican kids with huge moles on their forehead and low-end MILFs buying lame Halloween decorations in the middle of July. The products there feel like they should come from a ration book with pictures of staples like potatoes, beef, and imitation cleaning products like Pine Solve and Wintex.
If the future is really these dollar stores cropping up everywhere then we are facing the pathetic terminal phase of America. We shift from buying junkfood and things we don't need to buying nearly poisonous food and completely useless crap. You buy a DVD called CREM 2 and tell me that it doesn't feel like the end of all the consumerism we once cherished in America.
On the sunny side, at least we can get an advance on our next paycheck to buy more Bible crosswords and Stars & Stripes rootbeer. If only they had a 3-liter of gin.
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
There's no easy way to put this, so I'll tell it like it is. Bouillon is died. He went missing before the weekend and yesterday I found his skeletonized remains at the bottom of the #3 soup vat during one of my swims. I thought the cream of mushroom soup had an especially nourishing taste, and a lot more clumps of fur and skin than usual.
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