Ollie's! Ya Gots Ta Come

This store resides in Maryland, Pennsylvania, and Delaware -- or so the internets tell me -- so those outside of this perimeter are most probably unaware of its existence.
You lucky bastards.

Let me assure those in sweet, sweet ignorance, if Hell were to be given a different name, that name would be "Ollie's Bargain Outlets".

I give you the website to look upon, and for those with an aversion to opening links (see possible future post), here is a picture that represents a small (very small) portion of that nightmare that is Ollie's.



You see the man? That is Ollie, aka Beelzebub. Look at this drawing. You have never seen it before, but a part of you recognizes it, I'm sure. You may say no, but this is just suppression. We all supress things that are painful to us, and if you say no to this as well, you are only suppressing your suppression. End.

But he is there, at the back of all of our minds. This is how he recruits his employees. At night, he enters into the nightmares of the innocent and repeats, "Ya gotta come to Ollie's!" until the message wears in and the poor souls show up at the store the next day, demanding name-tags to wear and cash-registers to stand behind. There is no other way that these people would allow themselves to be subjected to such torture, and not even notice or mind. Not even the world's most violent masochist could do this.

The store itself, though. When you enter the store, your ears are accosted by your favorite overplayed hits of who knows when and god I wish never, with frequent interjections of "Ollie's! You can get a blah blah etc. for something or another, and here's a bad joke to make your day!" from a voice with the most obnoxious Baltimore accent (you don't even know about Dundalk) that could slaughter your young, if you allowed them to accompany you to the hell-hole, you horrible, uncaring person.

Your eyes are continuously raped by picture after picture of Ollie in get-up after get-up, until you are trapped in the middle of a hopeless, helpless, badly illustrated gang-bang.

I don't know how many times I have been in this store, maybe only once. But time does not exist in Ollie's. Not time as we know it. It was a dazed eternity, of confusion and misery. I spent a life-time, or maybe five, flailing within the aisles, waiting for my accompanying party to free themselves of the ridiculous notion that they were getting great bargains.

They don't understand. There are more things to pay with than money. (Just ask your mother about her exploits of last night.) But you, dear reader, you must understand, while you are in the store, Ollie sucks out some of your soul. Each time you enter the store, more of your soul has been stolen, and each time, more pictures of Ollie appear. You think that the "artist" has had great inspiration since your last visit, but no. Ollie recreates himself. Soon, he'll have enough souls to take on solid forms, and he will not only take your soul, but turn you into an Ollie as well.

Mark my words, Ollie's will no longer be confined to Maryland, Delaware, and Pennsylvania. He'll be headed your way soon enough.