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Pizza, Reprise

The lovely lady seems to really enjoy pizza. I just saw her checking the ingredients label of the mozzarella and pepperoni we offer in the deli. Ultimately, she didn’t buy either, from what I saw… unless she put it into her cart instead of back in the display. It didn’t seem like anything was missing when I walked past the display just a few minutes later, though.

I can’t seem to stop thinking about her.

People who think with their emotions are bored with this story, eh? The deli man never seems to close the deal! Oh Noes! Where’s the smut, Crystal? It’s in chapter 2, fornicator.

Negative energy begets negative energy, children of Earth. You are fucking up attractions by scowling at people for no fucking reason just because you think you are being wronged when really people are just fucking BUSY.

As for The Deli Man, he’s not real. He’s a construct. A figment of the imagination. And he most absolutely does not have an affinity or attraction to Sansara. That’s the point. Still, he stares at her whenever he has the chance, and subsequently wonders what she is about, echoing in the back of her mind, making her see his face in her subconscious mind, which then transports into her mind’s eye in her conscious mind, for she is telepathic. Psychic. Clairvoyant. Clauraudient. And she will hear and see you when you do that nasty thing you do, children of Earth.

And how is that fair to her, being forced to see countless men daydream about her spreading her legs for a quickie?

The bottom line is that your thoughts are not private. They never were. You just think they are.

Which is why I’m going to rape all of you bastards. God, that is. I’m going to give her every great idea on planet Earth for the rest of her life. Years before you would have thought of it. By the time you think to capitalize on it, she will dominate that market. Good luck, con artists and shysters of Urth. You give humanity a bad rap altogether, you know, and it makes many of us out here want to come down there and murder you. Blow you to smithereens. Force your poor little three dimensional bodies to implode, spraying guts and feces everywhere alongside your brain matter and soft tissues aside from that. Graphic? Yes, we are.

Just because you know my name — GOD — does not mean you know all of us up here.

I’ll just let that settle in for now. We have some shopping to do for second hand bookses. Goodbye now!

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