Fuck this. Fuck your boring, useless existence in the cockroach-infested asshole you call life.

It was 10:30 PM on a Wednesday night and you are wasting your night, no, your fucking life away working the night shift at a trashy Toys R Us that resides next to an old Subway and a nail place that looks like it's about to be run out of business in a matter of weeks. You have no fucking clue why a toy store stays open so late but you are long past questioning some of the things that humans do anymore. You should be grateful you even have a job even if it is just working at a cash register at a shitty toy store, anyway. If you are lucky, you might be able to hold this job longer than a week. If you can hold it for the whole summer, you will be able to start going to college again.

You were a Creative Writing major and you kind of actually liked it, but you were forced to drop out because you needed to move back home and take care of your piece of steaming hot shit moirail. If you didn't spoon that brain-rotting sopor into his already destroyed thinkpan, he would start listening to the voices in his head again. It was apparently your responsibility now that your friends started getting lives, like college and real jobs, and stopped worrying about Gamzee's mental health, leaving your responsible.

You were honestly just stewing in a pile of self-loathing and regret until the sound of the the automatic door opening and the sound of a group of laughing teens snapped you out of your thoughts. All four kids stumbled in the store while they talked over each other and practically yelling. This is why you hate teenagers, human teenagers to be exact. They were excruciatingly obnoxious and loud, not that you were exactly a quiet person. The boy in the front, with black hair and glasses, ran over to the shelf that held the Nerf guns. Holy dick no, you begged in your head, anything but the Nerf guns. The nerdy girl who looks extremely similar to him quickly followed and grabbed a gun. The blonde girl looks mysterious, almost creepy. She grined devilishly when the black haired girl tossed her a Nerf gun.

"Shit is about to go down right here," a very casual sounding voice came from the tall blonde male standing behind the rest. He was wearing aviators. In a store. At night. Is this dude an idiot? You would not be suprised. He also looks like a complete douchebag? He wass standing with his hands in his pocket like he doesn't give 2 shits. Who even stands like that? Assholes, that's who. The bulgelicker grabbed his own gun, commencing the shitstorm. The four teenagers ran around the garbage-hole store like they were playing an actual game of laser-tag. You tried to ignore the shrieks of laughter by trolling Gamzee.

CG: GAMZEE YOU BETTER FUCKING ANSWER ME

TC: hAhA wHaTs Up My PaLe BrO :o)

CG: A GROUP OF UGLY SHITWHIFF TEENAGERS ARE PLAYING WITH THE NERF GUNS

CG: THEY ARE BEING LOUD AND OBNOXIOUS AND MY THINK PAN IS POUNDING I *HATE* TEENAGERS

TC: aHh BrO iM sOrRy YoUr MoThErFuCkIn ThInK pAn HuRtS wHiLe I gEt To JuSt ChIlL

CG: YEAH WELL ITS NOT YOUR FAULT I WASNT BORN A HIGHBLOOD WITH MONEY LIKE YOU

CG: I JUST WISH THESE ANNOYING FUCKMONKEYS CALLED HUMANS WEREN'T HERE SHOOTING TOY BULLETS AT EACH OTHER

CG: THEY PROBABLY ARENT EVEN GOING TO BUY THIS SHIT?

TC: wElL wHeN yOuR sHiFt Is OvEr We CaN gEt OuR rElAx On

TC: kArKaT?

TC: yOu ThErE bRo?

You were in fact not there because the blonde fuck had hit you right in the glance nugget with the toy bullet. Oh shit, holy shit. You are going to get that asshole good. Well, you would if your eye wasn't in the worst of pain. You look up at the group of idiots with your hand still covering your right eye. You give them the death glare, or, as well of a death glare as one can give with one eye.

"Holy dick I'm sorry," The tall nooksniffer said after a few moments, obviously trying to contain his laughter. His hands were in his pockets again, which pissed you off to no end.

"Are you insufferable kringlefuckers going to buy those or just stand around like the bunch of primitive apes you are?" You practically screeched. The four kids jumped at the sound of your voice.

"Ahaha uh yeah... sorry," This time the voice came from the black haired male with the glasses. The teenagers walked to the counter with the toys and put them in front of you. You scanned them, rather aggressively.

"That's 45 fucking dollars and 95 cents," You can't believe these cockeaters spent 46 dollars on toys. The one with sunglasses pulled out a wad of cash and put it on the counter.

"Keep the change," he smirked and reached over to your name tag to get a better look, "Karkat." He winked, and patted the front pocket of your shirt. You squinted your eyes suspiciously as he put his hands back in his pocket and turned to leave. The three others followed him, giggling as they left. You hate those fucks. You picked up the wad of money and began to put it in the cash register.

After you were sure the group of teenagers were gone, you reached into your pocket and fished out what looked like a business card for what looked like art commissions. Except, the art surrounding the text was so shitty you almost shed a tear. What kind of sentient life form would even think about buying art as magically ugly and disgusting as this? The card said his name was Dave Strider. That name matched his douchey-looks and incredible asshole-ish nature. The card also gave his pesterchum, which is kind of weird for a business card, but you wouldn't put it past him. You were about to return the card to where it rightfully belonged, the garbage, when you see red writing on the back of the card.

text me Shouty ;)

When did he have time to do that? Oh my god. You don't know if you want to talk to him. He can't be that bad. No, he probably is that bad. You sigh and put you head in your hands. There is no way on God's green human-infested Earth that you will ever talk to that inflamed asshole. Probably.