Black Friday is Murder

Here's to those who die this day, who soon shall breathe their last beneath the footfalls of the slathering, beast-like, obese consumers of this nation; who die, trampled to death, year in, year out, each Black Friday, a witness to America's naked greed; a justification to her enemies.

In mere hours human lives shall end, cut short in the pursuit of what need? What cause? Savings. Yes, in moments men will die for discounts. They will be killed for coupons. Awash beneath the blue of morning's first light, mindless mobs shall murder. Them less sure of foot shall fall and end.

So here's to those who stumble when the mall doors open, and here's a curse upon the heads of all the rest, who pushed and shoved and knew not, and cared not. May they die worse deaths, slower, still more meaningless, than those they kill this day.

May your savings rot and fall off.


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