There is nothing to make me want to climb on top of JC Penney's with a bra on my head and pick off citizens with an automatic rifle quite like trying on ill-fitting (presumably due to undiagnosed scoliosis) bra after ill-fitting bra in a horrifically lit, dingy, 3 foot by 3 foot dressing room as Natalie Merchant sings Peace Train over shitty speakers for hours and hours. MICHAEL MCDONALD WAS PLAYED TOO, I SHIT YOU NOT.
Unless of course it's doing all this whilst suffering from The Black Plague resulting from a baby having planted his spitty hand in my ear recently.
Is there an #imanalcoholicbecause on Twitter? Because this is why.