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When I was a child in the 90s I somehow scored a voice role in a hotdog commercial for the radio. I was paid a king’s ransom for this, half of which my parents made me put in savings (wise), and half of which I spent on a brand new Sega CD (not wise).
The magic of postage stamp-sized full motion video took about three days to wear off, at which point all that was left was basically pure shit. They jacked me. At least I learned that lesson early.
I guess I can go to Rural King but honestly I doubt they’re better, but least-harm I suppose. When you live where I do you pretty much can’t avoid patronizing businesses like this, unless you can hear through the grapevine about some guy who’s selling whatever and is a fan of John Brown. We’re out here but we’re outnumbered and underground.