(Originally published on June 13th, 2009)
Oh God, someone pinch me.
Ouch! Didn’t mean that literally.
Oh wow. How shall we begin this?
Sigh…deep breath.. Ok.
Don’t ask my why I torture myself by going to the mall. Maybe I feel that I need more material for my show, or maybe I got issues and just wanna get pissed off for no reason. But for whatever reason, I decided an hour ago that Lloyd Center’s food court was my destination. Hey, I’m a busy guy, kiss off.
The problem was sanely getting to my destination within that human cage called a mall. I walk in the mall and automatically adjust myself to this machine of an existence I just entered. With the sterile air and perfume smells all around me, all I could hope for is that the sheeple would remain physically be OUT OF MY WAY so I can get to where I’m going without catching some kind of STUPIDITY/ILLITERATE disease of the mind. Damn, I left my mask at home again.
Often in malls the bubbles, shiny objects, smells, music, and bouncing boobs is too much stimuli for one to handle, causing one to feel dizzy and nearly blind as the herd bumps into inanimate objects and each other. I begin to feel ill as my awareness of the mind control in the mall increases to the next level. Am I the only one here that can see?
On the first floor the Portland Police are talking with children, sitting at a table by the Old Navy clothing store handing out police badge stickers to the kiddies. Don’t ask about the economy and who’s crashing it. Don’t ask why we live a police state and why the government is getting ready for martial law. That’s just weird.
“I don’t wanna fight man,” I think to myself. I just wanna get to my destination. Oh god, why am I here? There are so many fat people here now in this mall, what is happening to their minds? What happened to their spirits? Am I the only one that sees the predator hiding behind the trees?
After taking a cell phone picture of the police just to make them nervous, I decide that I’m not looking for a fight. Hey, I’m a nice guy and I’m hungry. Back to the hunt in this awkward urban jungle for the least toxic GMO contaminated food. MMM MMM good, they say. Watch out bouncing boobs at 10 clock, look away, look away grasshopper.
I walk carefully into the video game store making sure I don’t accidentally slip on a pool of drool, for in this mall there plenty to drool over. Posters are everywhere proudly displaying future soldiers in high tech suits getting ready for some serious combat in a world war three scenario. A large man weighing over 300 lbs of fat leaves the store pushing his baby in a stroller?
I ask, “How was the mind control store today sir?”
Haha, no response, non expected!
After gobbling up whatever road kill I fed myself and hypocritically lecture a random girl on the dangers of GMO food buying the same slop as well, I decide it’s time to depart from this fantasy wonderland.
And here she is. My future ex wife. Just kidding. Standing there with her young blond hair and Aryan blue eyes, shes asks..
“Hello sir, could we ask you some questions about what you think about these upcoming movies?”
Uh huh. Im not falling for this one, I think to myself silently, but not for long.
“Um, you don’t want to talk to me,” I say.
Her: “Yes I do.”
Me: “No you don’t.”
Her: “I get paid to ask people about their opinion of these new Hollywood movies.”
Me: “I know that. I got a question for you. Why do they call it… Hollywood?” (Hollywood is a magically wand from the holly tree that is being used to mind control the population according to Jordan Maxwell.)
Her: “I don’t Know.”
I ended up ranting my head off about the violence and sexual perversion in movies and Hollywood and how that messes up the mind of susceptible children that don’t know any better.
Her: “But it’s always been that way, that’s nothing new.”
Me: “!!!!!!!!!!!” “I’m outta here!”
Her: “No wait. I need to make my money, let me show you some trailers and you can tell me what you think.”
Me: “You already know what I’m gonna say lady. You got five minutes, lets go.”
(Putting headset on, going over to laptop.)