"Because I Can."
I believe that if you begin to ask too many questions on why this current journal entry even exists, months after I claimed I had written my last journal back in May (which was comparable to the bathroom graffiti you find in bus stations. Screw off, I lacked creativity and charm), then you'll miss what's important -- me, in an eternal blaze of eternally blissfully bliss, actually having something important to say.
Ever been inside Build-A-Bear Factory? What an obnoxious pit of never-ending happiness and joy that is. The place is so sickeningly sweet that you may actually either:
A.) Feel the film peeling off your teeth.
B.) Absorb particles of sugar and spice and sweetness gathering on your teeth and rotting them.
C.) Commit suicide, the place is so extraordinarily euphorically dreadful.
D.) Form an efficient combination of the three.
Here's how it works, children, so pay attention.
You choose a flat, unstuffed and lifeless toy bear (you can also get other animals too, like monkeys and hippos and lizards and people and shit). Next, you take your creature to a bin that has little plastic hearts, and then you take it to the Build-A-Bear worker, who makes you do a retarded combination of immoral things, like kiss the heart, place it inside the bear, spin around like a ballerina, say cult-status shit like "I LOVE BUILD-A-BEAR", make humping air motions, and then stuff your bear.
That's not all. Next, you have to go to a computer and print up a back-story for your bear. Because all the previous steps were not excessive enough. I remember being inside the store with Mandy making a Christmas present and thinking to myself, "Would you fucking build the bear please? Please? Ma'am? Would you build the goddamned bear? I should say something. Please. Would you--Would you please build the fucking bear? Damnit to eterna--please build the fucking bear. Yes. Thank you."
And, since I'm feeling kind of Ronco Showtime Rotisserie right now, WAIT. There's more. They constantly play eerie (which to a normal person, one already brainwashed by B-a-B's mindgames, is just normal cheer music). And whenever its some little girl's birthday, everyone has to stop what the fuck they are doing and congratulate them on being four.
On my scale of pain, I'd definitely rate the Build-A-Bear experience an F-
To Jessica W.
Ever been inside Build-A-Bear Factory? What an obnoxious pit of never-ending happiness and joy that is. The place is so sickeningly sweet that you may actually either:
A.) Feel the film peeling off your teeth.
B.) Absorb particles of sugar and spice and sweetness gathering on your teeth and rotting them.
C.) Commit suicide, the place is so extraordinarily euphorically dreadful.
D.) Form an efficient combination of the three.
Here's how it works, children, so pay attention.
You choose a flat, unstuffed and lifeless toy bear (you can also get other animals too, like monkeys and hippos and lizards and people and shit). Next, you take your creature to a bin that has little plastic hearts, and then you take it to the Build-A-Bear worker, who makes you do a retarded combination of immoral things, like kiss the heart, place it inside the bear, spin around like a ballerina, say cult-status shit like "I LOVE BUILD-A-BEAR", make humping air motions, and then stuff your bear.
That's not all. Next, you have to go to a computer and print up a back-story for your bear. Because all the previous steps were not excessive enough. I remember being inside the store with Mandy making a Christmas present and thinking to myself, "Would you fucking build the bear please? Please? Ma'am? Would you build the goddamned bear? I should say something. Please. Would you--Would you please build the fucking bear? Damnit to eterna--please build the fucking bear. Yes. Thank you."
And, since I'm feeling kind of Ronco Showtime Rotisserie right now, WAIT. There's more. They constantly play eerie (which to a normal person, one already brainwashed by B-a-B's mindgames, is just normal cheer music). And whenever its some little girl's birthday, everyone has to stop what the fuck they are doing and congratulate them on being four.
On my scale of pain, I'd definitely rate the Build-A-Bear experience an F-
To Jessica W.