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I finally did it. I out pizza'd the Hut. It was the greatest mistake of my life. After years of perfecting my recipe, I made my way down to the local hut, fresh-baked pizza pie in hand. "Try this," I told the kid working the counter. He did, and he had to agree that it was better than anything Pizza Hut had to offer. Soon, the entire store, customers included, was feasting on my delicious pie. The manager walked over, grabbed a slice, and took a bite. I look at him, anticipation rising. This was the boss, the local fief lord of the Hut. His approval meant more to me than all the rest combined. He took a bite and nodded. "I'll be damned," he said, "you really did it. You out- pizza'd the Hut. Shame." Shame? What did he mean by tha-- the manager pulled a gun out from behind his apron and shot the nearest customer in the head. "We have a Code Jalapeño," he said into his wrist as he executed the remaining customers. "I repeat, we have a Code Jalapeño." The ground was slick with blood. The kid working the counter choked out his dying breath as the manager turned to me. "You just had to do it motherfucker. You just had to out pizza the Hut." He shoved the gun in my face. I was too scared to fight, too scared to run. The manager pulled the trigger. A click. The gun was empty. I threw a chair at the manager and scrambled out of the Pizza Hut, not even bothering to see if my missile hit its mark. I was closely pursued by the manager, who had gotten his hands on a deadly sharp pizza cutter. I suspected in his hands it would cut more than pizza. Somehow, I was able to get into my car and speed off, the manager cursing my existence as I left him behind. I took a deep breath. The manager was clearly psychotic. Yes, that was it, just a crazy man with a gun. It had to be. My phone rang. Sister. I picked it. "They're dead, she sobbed. They're all dead. Mom, Dad, Chris, Bill. Dead. They killed them all." I could barely understand her, so great were her sobs. "What do you mean? Where are you?" I asked urgently. "How is this possi--" A single gunshot sounded through my phone's speakers. Silence. Then, I heard a man's voice. "No one out pizzas the Hut." He hung up. I drove down the empty country road, mind blank. I had nothing. They killed my family. I was alone. At that moment I knew what I had to do. They took everything from me. Well then, I would take everything from them. Pizza Hut was so terrified of being out pizza'd, they forgot there's one thing worse than a man with a recipe: A man with nothing to lose. I'll give them a limited time offer they won't be able to refuse: two bullets for the price of one. With a free side order of pain.

I've been unvaccinated for 9 months now, moving from place to place, keeping ahead of the vaxmaxers, never staying anywhere too long, never letting my face become known. "It's great being vaxmaxed isn't it" the shopkeep says vacantly, to nobody in particular. In keeping with the act I reply to the Heinz Baked Beans Substitute 6 Pack (No Plastic) in my hand, something unrelated, with what I hope is a slightly bemused tone. It takes a lot longer to do my shopping these days, I can't simply march through the shop in an orderly fashion, taking what I need in a single trip, I have to absent mindedly shuffle back and forward between the aisles, never really displaying any intent. As unpresent as they are, the vaxmaxed would notice if I was too focused, too alert. A loud smashing sound in the distance almost blows my cover, I notice, and focus on the sound. The vaxmaxed around me slowly aim their distant gaze on me, but I'm able to save myself, I continue my neck jerk and turn it in to a series of spasms, I drop to the floor convulsing, the vaxmaxed around me quickly lose interest and continue on with their day. "That means it's working" one elderly lady comments to her milk as she passes. I continue the charade long enough to filter out most of the vaxmaxed sharing the aisle. It takes a while, and no insubstantial amount of sweat on my part, but I make it to the checkout. A morbidly obese woman directs the horde at the tills, seemingly oblivious to the cacophony of aberrant scan noises and blinking red lights above the entirely self service super checkout. I wait dutifully, not wanting to be noticed, not wanting to be set upon by the Asda Security Vax Checker team, it had taken all my best bluffing to get past them at the door, I almost chuckled when they believed my vax card was in the post but it was quickly stifled, a chuckled would have given me away, a chuckle would have seen me held down and injected with science juice.

Short story-time for amusement reasons only: some days ago, I went to my bank (Austria). I am the owner of quite a number of GME shares and my broker app is actually just the bank-intern bond trading app, where I need to pay transactional feed everytime I buy (what is sell?) GME shares. I informed myself about the reasoning of those transactional fees beforehand and found out that by paying them, I have the right of consultation by my bank about the shares they‘re trading/I‘m buying. So, I went to the main national building of my bank, they were really friendly at the beginning, enthustiatically, I mentioned GME to them and that I wish for professional consultation about the financial details involved with that stock (I am not a financial guy, actually, I don‘t exactly know what‘s going on, it‘s all pretty crazy to me). Suddenly, their posture and mimick changed pretty suddenly. I was told, they are not allowed to consult about GME. To my question, why this was the case, they told me, because GME is „too irrelevant for the big stock market“. They are „aware of the past short squeeze, but one should no longer focus on GME“. They acted as if GME was some „childish financial playground“ that should be forgotten about. When I confronted them with the huge recent naked short attacks and if they could explain to me possible effects of them if they were not covered, they just repeated themselves how „GME is not relevant, please focus on stocks like Apple or Amazon to be safe“. I left the bank, buying more GME shares.

I'm shaking. I'm fucking shaking. I never wanted to breed with anyone more than I want to with Nolan Grayson. That perfect, shredded body. The perfectly trimmed mustache. The planet conquering skills of a literal god. It honestly fucking hurts knowing that I'll never mate with him, have him pass his genes through me, and have me birth a set of perfect offspring. I'd do fucking ANYTHING for the chance for Nolan Grayson to get me pregnant. A N Y T H I N G. And the fact that I can't is quite honestly too much to fucking bear. Why would Robert Kirkman create something so perfect? To fucking tantalize us? Fucking laugh in our faces?! Honestly, I just fucking can't anymore. Fuck.