I’ve wondered around Wal-Mart for an immeasurable amount of time.  I say ‘immeasurable’ because once your physical body passes through the portal under the black hole marked ‘Grocery,’ and the elder gatekeeper greets you, time, space-time, whatever you want to call it, ceases to obey the laws of physics.  Minutes are made of syrup, and not that runny knock-off brand of syrup either.  I’m talking Log Cabin minutes.  Reference points disappear.  The gatekeeper offers you a weighted receptacle.  This is to slow you down.  It also sends a subliminal message that you must now fill said receptacle.  As your Will begins to leave your body, the automaton drags you forward.  You believe you are in control.  That you are the one manipulating the receptacle.  You are not.  The connection you made when you placed both hands on the bar has short circuited your Will.  The connection from the wheels to the floor connects the receptacle to The Dark Sam.  There is now a direct flow of Consumerism flowing from The Dark Sam into you.

Now there is the Labyrinth.  You creep slowly up and down every single isle.  You may feel as if you have only traversed the isles necessary to that little piece of paper you call a list.  The one you left on your kitchen table.  But you have not.  You are skipping forward in jilted sequences of awareness.  But you always follow The Dark Sam’s complete path.  It is manifest.  Behold.

And at some predestined locus of points, The Dark Sam will whisper the slightest hint of a suggestion in your pliant ear.  You and your party should separate.  Continue to separate parts of the Labyrinth.  You may start to resist, small remnants of your Will that splintered on exodus.  You do not wish to lose your mate to the Lost Path.  But The Dark Sam whispers into your very Soul.  That it’s not that big of a store.  That your mate will be right where they said they would when you return.  That you won’t both be circling the Labyrinth in the same direction, just out of sight of the other, for twenty Log Cabin minutes.  And when your receptacle is full, you approach the debit card portal.

This portal is congested.  The Dark Sam requires a sacrifice upon the altar with no quantity key.  This is proof, by the way, of The Sam’s inherit darkness.  The Sam is efficient.  It would be efficient to have a quantity key on the self-directed altars.  Yet there are none.  You must pass all twenty packs of Kool-Aid before the debit altar.  Individually.  Separately.  This is senseless.  Chaos.  Darkness.  The Sam is Dark.  Behold The Dark Sam.

All hail The Dark Sam.