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A basket of apples
I shoulda known better than to spend all that money on groceries, as if I needed more poison, the poor guinea pig I am. At least I have the ability to excercise control. That's why I choose fresh, organic fruits. Whether the whole organic craze is conspirital marketing is still certainly possible, but we can only do our best. It's unfortunate, though, that when you go to pay for your miracle meal, the cashier who rings you up makes it quite clear that he has something against you, on a basis so vague that holding such resentments and even going so far as to enact passive attacks on your character lends the lame medal he recieved from the man in front of me an idolater's curse. Rehearse your self-righteous ridicules and hexed evaluations in defending the pretty princess who never asked. Perhaps you may find blasphemy in another's mental tendencies; it runs rampant through reality via the procedure of pests who feed their egos or otherwise get their kicks to condemn a random, not to mention entirely innocent stranger's character when it can conjur a level-up in social status for themselves in any circumstance that is befitting to their chemical nature of pridefulness, acknowledging "brothers" as part of an alliance who spite the sickminded they must see too in their own sinister souls but project instead their piledriver perspectives and web-weave these particulars into formation of another corrupt sort of subliminal cult. Symbolize a sequence that bespeaks daily decency, greeting God peacefully not shunning the stupefied case (observing disgrace) of a simple man wanting simply to purchase a few apples.
