Means To My End

So today on my usual morning quest before work, I set out to purchase my 44 oz "The Big Chill" cup filled to the rim with a Fountain Diet Coke. This journey is often not without mishaps and misgivings and I often wonder why I even bother in the first place. It's simple: Addiction.

I drove into the parking lot with that nervous feeling of anticipation. After all, going without my drink of choice can be a harrowing task not only for me, but also for others who have to deal with me. Keep in mind it's not the usual excuse of, "Oh I need my morning dose of caffeine." No, with me it's something different altogether: Bubbles.

What the fuck is better than a cold carbonated drink in the morning?

Nada.

I looked nervously inside, not recognizing the clerks behind the counter and was alarmed by the number of people in line. After all, I hate a fuckin' crowd. I clutched my cup as I walked through the doors. Yes, I bring my own cup. Fountain Diet Coke is fan-fucking-tastic in itself. However, Fountain Diet Coke in the form of a discount refill is, well, just plain orgasmic.

I rounded the corner to the fountain drink machine and not one, not two, but every fucking form of soda they had in that mother fucking machine was "out of order!" How does this happen? Is it technical difficulties or employee laziness? Judging from the amount of turnover in clientele in that store, I'm going to assume the latter. "You gotta be shitting me!" I said loudly as I turned and exited the store.

I jumped in the Blazer and drove an extra mile outta my way to another convenience store owned by the same company. Upon my arrival, I noticed that one entrance of the store was blocked by a large truck. I rounded the corner to an alternate entrance thinking I was home free. Unfortunately, there standing on either side of the double doors was 2 employees taking long drags off their smokey fags. "Of course." I groaned.

I sat in my vehicle thinking to myself about all those times my sister has warned me that I'm slowly killing myself with my Diet Coke consumption and the dangerous chemicals of which it is comprised. I'm always kind enough to remind her that at least when I DO eventually pass I'll already be embalmed.

Confused? Feel free to research the delicious additive,"Aspartame."

Without further hesitation and fueled by a burning desire to orally launch formaldehyde into my veins, I stepped out of my means of transportation and confidently made my way through the second hand fog and into the store.

What's another bullet in the chamber when you're continuously committing an apparent suicide?