I hate people at Costco®.
I might have mentioned before how I dislike large groups of people colliding their oversized shopping carts into each other with a lab-grown need to consume an 8lb bag of potato chips. No? Well, here it goes:
At Costco®, you can get just about anything you want. You'll find 50lb tubs of cat litter, racks of Vitamin Water™, bottles of wine, all neatly arranged in towering aisles of selectable back pain.
But to make your trip more interesting, management provides massive shopping carts that narrowly squeeze two by two down the walkways, getting jammed up while some curious grandma stops to look at an 8 pack of sports bras. And the worst part? They don't even put blades on the carts. Nothing sharp at all, in fact. When you slam into another person's cart, you've got to really hit it running and even then you only get a metallic grill beating sound and maybe, if you are serious, a minuscule bounce off the ground, which is unlikely to cause any significant damage.
My least favorite part are those weekend taste-test tables that are scattered all over, blocking pathways and forming large lines of people waiting to get a taste of a cracker. It's a cracker! Oh, and look, there's some stir-fry. You think I'm touching that? Chicken in a warehouse? Um... no.
"Hey, uh, 'scuse me?" The man in front of me fails to respond. He's completely blocking my path, only so he can keep his place in line for the free sample of a 5,000 gallon jug of cheese dip. I'm in no mood for this. I start to shake my cart violently, like a kid in a playground. "AAaaaahhahahahahahahhhhHH!" My voice echoes deep within the cavernous walls of Costco® as I pick up the cart and slam it down on top of the man like a giant cheese grater guillotine, slicing him into bite sized bits and crashing the cart down hard against the unyielding floor. The seismic beating creates an avalanche of cheese dip, pouring from the massive vat at the front of the line. People begin to panic and flee but it's too late, the dip is upon them, making their feet slick and unstable. Countless legs fly into the air as the confused horde runs right into the slippery goop, landing with sludgy abandonment.
I too realize my escape is foiled by the hot orange gushing river. While searching for an alternate path, I see the drooling mass of weekend shoppers descend, diving willingly into the steamy lake, even as it forms. They slip and roll around in it, covering their clothes and licking it off their hands. A woman rips her shirt open, exposing herself to the dip. Others follow suit and soon the flowing melted cheese is an orgy of naked consumerism, writhing in a thick lather of aged and processed cattle spunk.
Leaping onto a nearby column of salsa and bean dip, I make my escape, flying from rack to rack, leaving the growing mass of orgasming food lusters to their fate.
Sleep Deprivation Ninja doesn't do cheese dip.