Can’t even buy a bottle of booze without getting pegged as a terrorist…she stares at my ID and stares and stares and checks my credit card and seems upset when she gives it back to me and informs me of the total…upset she couldn’t bust me, be the one to set me straight…fuck the busters and the cops and the do gooders and the work harders and the want morers…you would think a shitty little liquor store in a nice white neighborhood would appreciate the business of a patron such as myself…I mean hell be grateful to be clearing a fifth of tequila at one in the afternoon…but no, nobody’s going to be happy for months thanks to fucking Christmas time. People loathe paying bills… they loathe other people having fun, people love to complain…pull their cards, race religion sex drugs rape detention, whatever… especially when they buy a ton of shit all at once…they blame the fucking bills for coming…like it’s a surprise that the sofa they’re sitting on would end up costing tangible money eight months after they brought it out of the store and into their home… rational buyers, please…economic modeling…you’ll have better luck with market pricing dope…none of us makes any sense and we’re not supposed to…the pitiful miasma of marketing and advertising and managing and customers and sales and profits and guaranteed hedges…they make the commercials last twelve seconds long and shoot our kids up with speed to make them slow down…it’ll all make sense if  you just give it a chance…I have to go, I’m in a rush.


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