Awful librarian bitch at the local bookstore (perfect double D bust) was apoplectic and had a complete meltdown when I asked her if their banned books section included Camp of the Saints. “No… we don’t carry that. Isn’t that the racist Nazi book?” Her scowl reveals her septum piercing. My hand briefly hovers over my concealed carry Ruger .357 before I snap out of my gamer rage. Not today. She’s not worth it. “No it’s the book about the endless horde of brown people invading our nations and killing everyone. Sound familiar?” She does not like this. I egg her on further: “…is it banned from this store?” Immediate hysterics. Calling me every name in the gay race communist book. She sounds like evan loves worf. Her beauty contrasted with her despicable leftist political beliefs confuses me until I analyze her microexpressions and realize she has areola shame. Must look like a burnt pancake under that bra. No wonder you’re so miserable. “You got gross nipples bitch” I say in a Jesse Pinkman voice before making an overtly sexual bust-a-nut gesture with my hand toward her chest. She’s in complete shock. I walk away and go to the counter to purchase my copy of Light in August. The cashier is an H1-B Indian who is physically incapable of saying the word “receipt”. He needs me to sign it despite me paying in cash. “Saadr yowre dwree— recdr— werdceit please?” I have visions of rivers of blood. What the fuck are we doing here man. You should start running. You’re not safe here. You’re not where you think you are. A man taps me on the shoulder and asks me to leave the premises. Dominican rent-a-cop. The busty libtard librarian with fucked up titties grins smugly from behind him. Don’t care any more. Not my fault your shits all blotched bitch
I love all of the safety features they started putting on gas cans like 10 years ago that make it so you fucking spill highly flammable gasoline all over the fucking place.