Twelve Customers Gunned Down In Convenience-Store Clerk's Imagination
Of course, I'm safe, because I have no annoying habits (you can stop snickering now, Susan...). Still, one can never be too careful about those unbalanced convenience-store clerks....
CLACKAMAS, OR—Driven to homicidal rage by mounting job-related frustrations, third-shift Stop 'N' Shop clerk Justin Fonseca, 27, shot and killed 12 customers in his imagination Monday.
The mass slaying, the 63rd to take place in Fonseca's mind since he began working at the Portland-area convenience store last August, was the worst since Mar. 17, when he visualized himself fatally stabbing 22 intoxicated St. Patrick's Day revelers with their own broken beer bottles...
Mentally arming himself with a pump-action 12-gauge Mossberg shotgun advertised in an issue of Guns magazine he'd been flipping through, Fonseca pictured himself grabbing Pays-With-Pennies Guy's hair and sticking the barrel of the shotgun in his mouth. Fonseca then imagined himself pulling the trigger, blowing off the back of Pays-With-Pennies Guy's head and showering the trio of Diet Coke-Buying Bitches behind him with blood, brains, and bone fragments.
Continuing his fantasy rampage, Fonseca thrust the shotgun deeper into Pays-With-Pennies Guy's mouth, causing the muzzle to protrude through the smoking exit wound in the back of his skull. He then cocked the shotgun's pump action by working the slide against Pays-With-Pennies Guy's lower jaw and aimed the weapon at the Diet Coke-Buying Bitches. The wealthy sorority sisters stood paralyzed by the sheer force of personality of Fonseca's daydream-avatar, a fierce version of Fonseca with whom people do not fuck. Fonseca fired once, and the single bullet, an exotic 2.5-ounce rifled anti-personnel slug the cashier had previously employed in several undercover-Mossad-agent fantasy scenarios, pierced all three of the Diet Coke-Buying Bitches' skulls, killing them instantly and causing them to slump to the floor in a grisly, tank-topped heap.
Fonseca then abandoned the image of the shotgun and drew a pair of matte black high-capacity .50-caliber Desert Eagle automatic pistols from his memories of playing Tomb Raider. Emerging from behind the counter, he walked toward the deli case and cornered the Deli-Bell-Ringing Fat-Ass, a Stop 'N' Shop regular whose insistence on immediate service and precise sandwich assemblage had for months meant hellish Sunday nights for Fonseca.
In his mind, Fonseca then shot Deli-Bell-Ringing Fat-Ass in two-handed, double-gun, John Woo-style, driving the bullets into his victim's gut with such force that the Deli-Bell-Ringing Fat-Ass was propelled over the glass deli case, forming a helical trail of blood behind him as he twisted through the air and came to rest face down on the Stop 'N' Shop's Hobart-brand automatic rotary slicer. The impact activated the slicer, which had been left on the thinnest setting, and Deli-Bell-Ringing Fat-Ass' face was shaved into ribbons.
Guns in hand, Fonseca proceeded to take a cathartic, imaginary march through the store. Heading first to the coolers, he encountered three of his least favorite customers, Individual-Sticks-Of-Margarine Woman, Underage Dude Who Always Tries To Buy Beer Even Though We Always Fucking Card Him, and Guy In The Bathrobe And Flip-Flops Who Comes In Like Three Times A Night To Buy Ben & Jerry's.
Tsk tsk; I sense some anger-management issues here. Even so, it might be a good idea to leave my jar of pennies at home the next time I go shopping.
