9-26-01
6:12PM
The grinding, hellish torment of work continues for yet another day. Yet at the same time, it is my first day. I must make the supreme effort not to give up hope.
6:38-7:01PM
I was thinking, if the quest for quality was so very paramount, what is the utility of so-called “return policies”? There can be no time limit on freedom.
7:08PM
Your words enter one ear, piercing me, then leaving via the other...painfully, like an exit wound from an arrow Cupid shot too hard. Have a nice night, ma’am...silence. The voice inside my head screams “praise me, hold me, tell me I am not alone...just this once...” How can you be so cold?
7:29PM
As my eyes wander from rack to overflowing rack of luxury goods, they often fixate on the symbol of all that is good in the world. Yes, that mysterious name, or as the French would say, nom mysterieux: Petters. This Petters, is he a mere mortal? Or a god walking in the plane of men? Whatever the case, it is my highest fantasy to birth the children of this deity b’fore I slip the surly bonds of Earth into the netherworld.
7:42PM
I’d like to possibly some day get hideously burned by a molten mixture of Butter Rum Nips, Sugar Frosted Corn Flakes, and 3 pounds of Buzz Aldrin’s feces. I would like for this nectar of the Gods’ goo to be slathered on my back in the shape of a well-endowed male pony. Only then will Lisa Loeb realize that I am someone. Our romance will be brought abruptly to a halt when they discover our decomposing bodies, wrapped in an eternal embrace in the Petters Edina bathroom. In the handicap stall I lost everything...Everything. As for now I’ll stuff my face with Brownberry Bread to fill the void...the loveless, fragrant void. Life is cruel. Billy the big-mouth bass is our only hope.
8:22PM
$400,000 in Stanley tools, 50% off. Can’t thou’st even comprehend the magn’tude of such o’ sale? Why, a mere 50 per-cent of 400,000 will provide for nearly 100,000 adult diapers. Enough to store precious excrement for generations to come. Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be.
8:27PM
My insanity hole bursts forth with a hot mess to fill the void of your sweet lovin’. Veritable abdominal thrusts of pain push inanities through a tight passageway into the bowl of knowledge. If I could but attend the college of the forefathers, I would be satiated in my search for the mental wastes of the souls.
8:33 PM
Department 99 begs to submit to the dominance of complete mental comprehension. Don’t be silly: ‘tis a state of mind.
8:37PM
Coming back from break-time with a smile, like showing gratitude for a broken neck...where the fuck did my lemonade go? This is absurd. I have visited this fifteen minute heaven, or should I say purgatory. I returned, or should I say, I was reincarnated as the master cashier/salesperson with blood soaked hands and clothing the blood. The warm comforting blood spews like a geyser from my left nostril...kiss me, and then you shall receive the price of your change. Including a hefty slice of piece of mind, knowing you brightened the bleeding vegan’s day. And I hope that maybe I was your little ray of sunshine for today, the day I learned how to fly, the day I learned what a beer enema is, and how your mouth tastes like shit. Wretched, fragrant shit.
8:41PM
I’d like to thank you for it. Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na...for your Buyer’s Choice paper napkins. The caressers of a bottom ravaged by the corrosive ways of the poop? Yes! The very same! But who is to say the choice of the buyer? Certainly not the buyer. Anyone who still excretes waste manually deserves not the pleasure!
8:51PM
Goldberg belt you beckon me. Closer, closer, until my genitalia are in full humiliating view of you. Such a hardy man, yet you laugh like a woman intoxicated, speaking in tongues because of religious euphoria. So this is what it’s like to feel at home in El Sanchez’s court. That bastard. You can’t cook, you don’t wash the dishes. You are worthless. Your mother should have crushed you with the massive teat that nourished you as an infant. My poop looks like custard today. Such a beautiful thing to waste. Down the drain, along with my youth...
8:59PM
The look on your face says it all. You love me because I am your connection to the man, the myth, the one who keeps you in the Brownberry, Ocean Spray juice, clocks, lamps, TVs, VCRs...all at ungodly low prices. Yes, you guessed it, we sold our souls for you to see the joy on your faces as you walk out: satisfied customers. It’s the Petters way. You will smile or you will feel the wrath of the beast.
9:01PM
Are massive savings truly worth the cost? The magnitude of human suffering cannot be justified by Brownberry Bread, at the price of only $0.99 per 1 loaf.
9:05PM
Today I ring you up. Tomorrow, revolution.

9-27-01
4:34PM
Good afternoon Petters shoppers, I have returned. Did you miss me? It’s so easy for you to forget about me. I am the one who hides in the shadows, dwelling in the land of oop. My heart calls to you, listen up you prick. Frustration as a repeat my mantra of ”Love thy brother, love thy father, love thy holy spirit." Let me out Mikey, just pull down those pants and experience ecstasy, or should I say x-tian-aseey? I am your menace, the bane of your existence in its purest form. Sorry mother, I’ll try to be more God-posi tomorrow.
5:36PM
Her nice rod beckons me, calls out in the night, longing for me to urinate. Like so many flowers in bloom showered in all that is yellow. Why must you steal my black? Distract me not from talk of pee and virgins. Now go piss off!
6:08PM
“Throw them bows” you say, “bling bling” you say, I say fill syringe full of color safe bleach and insert it into my urethra, or in layman's terms, my “pee hole.” Do me the pleasure of squeezing said syringe’s content into my sick, sad bladder. Punish me, for I have committed the ultimate sin.

10/05/01
7:15PM
My love for you is undying. Like the unyielding, unquestioning presence of a rosy anus in full bloom. Press the button and savor its aroma. Oh so fresh, and oh so new. “Will you please please please please please please please please please go to Homecoming with me?”
7:28PM
$5.00 for the soul of one, $666 2/3 for the body of one. What has inflation done to the business of Petters Warehouse? Where to obtain a cunt means your need a fortune. This depresses me, I guess I’ll have to settle for a cock. Then murder myself.
8:33PM
Bright lights flashing into my eyes. Not just lights, but headlights. Headlights flashing into my cumming eyes. They are cumming blood and sperm, just for you. You are the one I love, no more, no less. Keep this in mind as the Silly Putty creeps further and further through the pores of your earlobes. Further seems forever. Requiem.
8:39PM
The stunningly beautiful scene plays over and over for the head referee that is God. The glimmering facade of limbs in flight, the viscera emanating from bowels ripped with contortions of destruction, gasping for air, air filled with the filth of all your broken words, all your false modesties, your travesties. They haunt me, and I hate you. Get out of my life forever.
Love, Mom.
10-12-01
4:47PM
Pallets and bullets, and all those things that remind me of you. There’s no tag on it, no ticket to tell the cashier the price of your love. Can I charge it to tha game? Hell nah, you been sippin’ too many 40s dawg, the game has changed you. Petters make me numb. I cannot complete

10-22-01
8:17PM
$1.49?!? Are you clinically insane!? I hate your glasses, I hate your wife! Why can you shop here, but I cannot? I have to work here. Gloves will be done soon enough...soon enough to drape my hands, the same hands that choked your mother, they will soon reach your throat, soon pat and caress your lifeless corpse. For us? For me? No, for society! I cannot read this to you, for you speak differently than what you hear, you speak English, but hear only in tongues. She won’t let you buy it, but I will, as I would let you thrust your hand into my fiery balls...I hate you, she has a boyfriend, her boyfriend is all but you, you can’t love, you can’t trust, you can only reach deep into my organs and play with my sex cells, sperm to drink, testicle sweat to drip, drip into your eye, making you tear, making my penis bleed and urinate into the new mixture, the new concoction. Drink my blood, sweat, and tears, drink now, for we shall dance the left of the night, only to sleep nude in the gutters and die in the morning.

10-23-01
5:08PM
I hate you because you bleed different than me. Your blood spills different than mine...yours is in vain, mine is spilled for my love of fine powders, powders that covered the floors of the store this afternoon. These things I do not fear...physicalities are merely pictures, images your mind creates to justify your loneliness. I envy loneliness. I am done now, yet I am not content, something’s missing from here. I’m sure I’ll figure it out when I get home to my bed, when I cry my rabid eyes out. My tear ducts work like aquifers and the current of pain causes my eyes to shoot out like a dormant animal’s enraged climax. How many times will U2 be played over the loudspeaker today? 100 maybe? That 12 hours of shit, I can’t put up with this anymore. It’d be ok if you hadn’t selected me to do this task, in spite, I will kill myself, or propose to your brother’s keeper. I thought I was their friend, but they just stood aside and raped my feelings. Why can’t I just be loved!? Why, Dan, why!? Can I please go back home? I’m not fit to be punished today. Send me back to my family, Dan! I’m sorry I didn’t watch you eat that man’s heart.
8:25PM
It all started when Craig left: steel flew and nearly hit my precious princess. Striking her could have freed my soul from her devilish grasp. She toys with my scars, open wounds that helped me grow from a boy to this horrible, disgusting excuse for a man. Still, her life is pretty and I can only feel sorry for her forest prince, a man who shall die of fasting soon enough. His head shall swell and his body will smell of Tourette’s. I hate pedophiles, but I accept their situation. It’s like a narcissist who masturbates to his 1st grade picture, the boy is good. And this lady, she’s buying “Forever Beautiful” and she is too. So much so that I wish to grab her by the wrists and spin her around in circles until our speed exceeds that of gravity, so we rise, rise towards the moon of gratuity while she frantically attempts to swallow her own tongue. What pleasure arises from this? None. None whatsoever. If personal hygiene is keen, then ‘tis no friend of mine ma’am. Stop talking and bathe yourself in vinegar and egg whites. Shower in pond water and breathe smoke. Lungs of fire, you breathe smoke in and out. Try some of my orange TicTacs before I send the princess to stuff your bush. P.S. Brooklyn...shave your mustache.

10-23-01
7:14PM
“As do I.”