Liquidation Sale' the big sign read in red letters. I was in some old furniture factory, unnamed, brandless place. His mom was there, but she took off somewhere and he was now alone, wandering through the fields of old furniture. The rooms were cold and dead as concrete. 'Liquidation' signs held suspended from the walls above. The lights grew dimmer. The funiture grew older, more dusty, and more wondering would take place. His mom would find him later, after the historical triggering had gotten enough time to sink in. City: Courtney? 1998? Possibly 1999. Why were we even here? Why did we go to so many swimming pools that reeked of chlorine? We went to this one called the Austrian Chalet, and it used way too much chlorine. So much that his eyes stung a faded white shade after a $2.00 swim in the facility. There were some artistic murals of sea monsters on the wall, done in colored, chipped tiling. The hot tub and sauna were pretty good. He always got so hungry after a swim. Luckily, this was during the times of gradeschool, pokemon, warhammer, nice friends, and playstation; before the public exposure via low-paying fake jobs became annoying like mosquitoes on steroids. The young, pliable minds of apprehensive placeholder humans (though some were likely genuine) were far less obtuse than the overblown cancer-rage of old bastards who'd been so brainwashed into oblivion that not even a head transplant could save them from the bottomless waste bins of white supremacy.

Exposure to their toxic attitudes in later life would prove to be mentally acidic, especially the bloated fake physics man who stuffed beer cans up chickens at bbq's and waddled around on nuke day throwing bonfires for parasites. It even went so far as to blast dissonance from a 'pool heater' (sand filter) placed strategically close enough to the home to cause maximum annoyance. The purpose of this machine was to trigger bunker memories of manual air filters whose hand crank mechanism would have produced a similar racket. Dungeon master's perfect daughter, family, and other hapless extras took part in the charade, but all were seemingly blind to the pathetic desperation of the whole exercise. Fried chicken's lowest point might have been madly hobbling forward in an attempt to push one down the stairs, only to have his wildly ugly face punched in. But not to be forgotten was the angrily whispering, loudly door and cupboard slamming rage reaction of witnessing a gravity of work be reduced to redundancy, lies, and tricks. Oddly, both incidents resulted in the completion of manual labor projects. In the first case, a stairwell railing had been completed (it resembeled prison bars), and on the second, it loudly, obstinately taped together a cover over an open cubby-hole under the stairwell in a weak attempt to block the (simulated battlefield) smell of putrid sewage seeping through the loose, rusted metal cover into the exact area as one's living space.

Luckily, those days were over, but the junk still lingered in the psyche: chemical imprints of frustration, desperation, and failure clinging to neural micro-tubules of patterns rapidly changing to override their influence. One often noted how old patterns had to be remembered before being overwritten and modified for the benefit of clear consciousness. It was a welcome change, and now new bridges were being formed. It was now funny to remember the stale shaw coffee and awkward peripheral crypto-blacks planted in the workplace to report, no matter how artificial and contrived, predispositions to racial marginalization. Militant shill operations employing zion's scopolomine-induced drones and pseudo-gay fascist techniques had been applied much more freshly to countersignal feminism, but this had little lasting impact, and would soon be relegated to the dustbins of memory.  

Work started at 9 am but he called on his cheap plastic flip phone (grey) to work and talked to the Angela. She was a horrible human being. 'It's snowing out and the buses are running late' he lied. She muttered in some nasally whine and he hung up. The coat flew up his arms and he drifted down the dusty stairwell in a mental fog that lasted until at least noon. He slipped on some thin, ripped shoes and shuffled out the door. His pants were kept up but an itchy, too-tight belt and they were covered with stains. Outside he waited for the bus and by the time it came his feet were numb from the cold. His headphones blasted death metal into his brain, and all the faces on the bus were a grey smudge. He the trip itself was a slideshow of nonsense. He imagined his coworker Stan, a bloated pervert with thick coke-bottle glasses and a gut that spilled so far over his belt, nearly to his knees, in the printer isle, but instead of printers he was selling guts like his own, large protrusions of human skin hanging from hooks for gut expansion complete with warranties and addons. At the Walmart bus stop he got off the bus and slid into mcdonalds breakfast menu on the wall, ordered fried sludge. Came into work, the crusty stains on his pants and shirt shining magically under the dead fluorescent lamps.

>exhibit A examination protocol activated, secret shoppers equipped with pre-memorized scripts and post-physics unification theory enactments for real life situations initiated***

He broke eye contact with everything and headed straight for the break room to punch into the computer to signal his arrival into the building. The machine docked his pay in 5 minute intervals, totaling 15 minutes to account for the time he'd slept in and bus delay. He looked in the mirror and noticed how the oval flip phone made a slight protrusion in the form of an upraised outline in black on his work pants. Tucked in the red work shirt, forgot to shave. David said that shaved faces were less trustworthy than clean faces. David had a skin condition where he itched it all the time and it flaked and peeled off like red flakes of sand paper. He smoked 2 packs a day. Stan was in the printer isle playing with his mustache and glazing over some kids. Angela approached and the massive bitch face installed on her creased, feverish Israel face. The tight hair parted across her anger lips and she railed on about annoying complaints in that tone of voice where each syllable stabbed into my neurons with a screeching red-alert stress signal to trigger the jesus christ activation sequence. With it came all the tied up laces of judaized disturbance mechanisms that coiled around his brain like browsing cookies or PUP.optional malware fragments. Her words didn't even make sense, they just poked and prodded his psyche like hotknives. Every day was a struggle to remove them, but he drowned in them and was surrounded by their residue. It was 2006 and things were only getting worse. The waves of sleep struck him as he stood there, eyes glazing over at the AS400 inventory system to print out pricing labels on little sheets of perforated paper accounting for all the price changes, hundreds of them, all alternating everywhere on a daily basis to keep the hapless consumer spending wrecklessly. First customers of the day dragged their bodies through the welcome doors, slid open and poured through, greeted by horse girl (cashier – blonde). The breakfast burrito sludge began to process and digest like tumbleweeds through a trash compactor and he felt his stomach wretch with gas and discomfort. 20 minutes later of shitting out diarrhea in the public bathroom and all the price change labels were ready to distribute in the tight plastic displays under the dust covered obsolete products like printers, projectors, boxes of toner and other miscellaneous junk lost and reshuffled in the fields of corporate decay.

Anal isys of 'Subject A' Update 109299.

Multiethnicity hostility triggering mechanism: complete failure. Subject continues to show reason and understanding towards diverse ethnicities, further deriding our theory of extreme ethnocentrism. Subject demonstrated affinity for multi-ethnic musics such as 'hip-hop' and also shows an interest in female-fronted musical talents, a further setback to our white male supremacy M-theoretical homogenization of ambedextrousness. For the multiverse to exist in our frame of M-power, degradation of secondary gender (or suppression... redundancy?) must be paramount. We feel that with enough triggering of deeply seated programming and cultural conditioning, comparing latent sexual interests with destructive influences, and micro'anal'ization of social microtransactions, we can completely disestablish any notion of gender parity in favour of dominance and suppression. Multiple fronts of propaganda and over-indulgence of fetishistic extremism to the point of physical and mental decay, irrespective of our cognitive bias and projections, is clearly what's being alluded to in all circumstances, and so we've programmed this magnetic signature into portable wave-cascade generators to be placed in backpacks of pedestrian stand-ins and extras appearing to walk small dogs on tight leads, strategically placed to coincide with subject outings and public appearances. Vehicular activity is to be in sync with subject projected path of travel, ensuring to apply ample pressure to gas when vicinity is near, as to distribute additional air pollution to secure the objective of triggering illnesses and hopefully cancer. But the goal is to not actually inflict cancer, but to trigger in the subject his hypochondriac nature of permanent, disabling illnesses as to coincide with buried messiah complex and this action will be supplemented in an expansion pack to backpacked extras as a Jesus projection simulator to magnetically project peripheral interference in the form of quantum mechanical static generators. The effect on the subjects heart should effect some deep notion of divine influence to defy all evidences of science and reason. Subject already experiences frequent ringing in ears, and placements of subject in furnace rooms and submarine innard-like sets have proven useful to us in establishing a concrete base of historical selective triggering (HST) but the veganism never caught on. Our plant kate failed to adapt subject to vegan tendencies, even through dinner meetings at vegan restraunts and frequent conversations regarding the subject of vegan food and veganism, and all further pursuits of this nature have been abandoned in light of more pressing circumstances. We can never abandon the prospect of supressed homosexuality, and more of our attention will be diverted to this psychological deconstruction. Placeholder humans have been heavy dutily brainwash programmed in scopolomine tanks and indoctrinated with fool-proof scripts to unearth this ultimate demonstration of M hegemony, although subject has shown little to no interest in this area outside of common friendship and loyal camaraderie, there is still room to speculate endlessly, irregardless of our cognitive bias and DOF projections.