every time he rolls past me with his giant googly eyes, i want to tackle him to the floor. i want to hand the $30,000 it took to buy him to a human being who will use the money to pay rent and who will open another checkout lane when the line is backed up halfway down the baking aisle. i want to rip his googly eyes off. i want to beat his plastic head in. it's not a head. it's plastic.
the only time i felt for him was the day he tried to escape
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