Hey, you. Yeah… you. The guy hiding behind the plastic shrubs near the restrooms. Listen as carefully as you can to every word I’m about to say: you are not living out the final moments of a folk-horror masterpiece in which you get ritualistically sacrificed for harvest; you’re just stoned off your ass at a Hobby Lobby and time is running out, so you need to keep moving without drawing too much attention to yourself.

I don’t mean that your days are numbered or anything like that. Hobby Lobby closes in, like, five minutes, and the woman discreetly following you around the store while counting her rosary beads is actually a nervous wreck because you’ve been pacing around the place and laughing to yourself in disbelief with no clear objective according to the CCTV in the back office that’s b

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