A reporter in rural Alabama went inside a gas station to buy a Snickers.
No word on whether or not she ever found/bought said Snickers.
Before anyone goes off halfcocked (see what I did there?) I own guns. But my gas station sells a bit of food, candy, cigarettes, comic books, oil, gloves, gum, soft drinks and probably some hot wings.
This?
This is an obsession.
This is fucking nuts.
Why are these people so scared? What is it they fear? What is the origin of this fear? Who is lying to them in a hyperactive sensory overloaded fashion with theme and mood music to make them feel they're about to be attacked...by someone...any moment...all the time?
Oh...that's right...
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