I hate animals.

So I finally left the apartment the other day. I probably look and smell indistinguishable from the homeless piece of shits that camp out in the alley ways around here, yet they stil try and hit me up for change. Fucking idiots.

I decided to go to the grocery store, to load up on Hot Pockets, frozen pizza, Ben and Jerrys, and maybe some malt liquor. I dont' really drink that much, but I have time to start.

I wander around the store, get all the stuff in my shopping cart. Store security is eyeballing me like I'm gonna steal their fucking cart. I get all the food I'll need for two weeks and stand in line. Some soccer mommy wrinkles her nose when I go by and I wonder if her Botoxed up face will explode if I were to suddenly hit her. I don't hit her. I'm a weakling.

I go to the cashier and when they aske for my Safeway card I realize I don't have it with me. Oh well. They ring it up and the bill ends up being about thirty dollars more than I thought it would be. Question: why does having that card make shit so much cheaper? Is it really worth thirty dollars to track my fucking buying habits.

I groan, but give them my check card anyway. DECLINED. I check my other credit cards, but they're all expired. I swear the gooks over at Golden Shanghai double charged me for the egg drop soup and kung-pao kitten they delivered the other night. The stuff kept me on the toilet for an hour.

Anyway, I walk out of the store, embarrassed once again. At least some union flunky will have to restock all the stuff in my cart.

I duck down an alleyway to go back home, and see laying next to a dumpster a old mangy dog. I sympathize with the dog. The dog looked exactly like I felt. I let it sniff my hand for a second, then suddenly the urge to stomp the dog to death went through me.

Doing something so horrible wasn't as hard as I thought. It only whimpered with the first few kicks. Then I stomped on it's rib cage (sounded like breaking dry spaghetti) and it could barely breathe much less cry. It didn't bleed that much either. It was really like kicking this fur-lined bag full of bones. It bled from the mouth some, and towards the end a couple bones were jutting out of it's skin.

It was still alive though, looking up at me. I tried to put it out of it's misery by stomping on it's muzzle a few times. But it kept drawing breath. Eventually I said fuck it and stumbled on back home, where I picked the fur out of the waffle of my boots with an old chopstick.