Mike Lindell (My Pillow CEO) X Reader

The Recovery

It was December. Last spring the incident had happened. You shudder everytime you remember it, nearly having Vietnam War flashbacks. You went to therapy over the summer and were diagnosed with PTSD, as well as... athlete's foot? You didn't know how a therapist knew any medical shit like that, but you knew not to pry further and just assumed they were a god in the field of medicine. An oracle who knew all.

After learning your cable television set was an extreme trigger for your PTSD episodes, you violently threw it out of the 24th floor apartment window. Hopefully it didn't catch anyone on the way down, but hell, not like it was your problem anyways.

Since you made a drastic recovery, you figured you were well enough to buy a new television at your nearest supermarket emporium, Shitmart. You missed the times you had with watching television: Listening to the greatest 90s hits on some random ass channel that apparently came with your basic cable plan, reading the porn channel names, and trying to uncover the mystery of the hundreds of blank channel spaces.

---

You toss on your blue elephant jammies. It'd be really weird if you didn't, everyone dresses like a bum at Shitmart. You continue to slip on your fuzzy slippers. That's what I call an outfit! You look in the mirror,

Holy shit! You look terrible! Great. You won't stand out for once.

---

While driving in your broken down Honda Civic from the early 2000s, you listen to 60s Oldies. You contemplate every decision that brought you to this point, and also think about how many rubber duckies it'd take to fill a storage container. Before you know it, you're pulling into the disabled parking spot of Shitmart.

You get out the car with a slam of the door then lock it. Breathing in the fresh air- no, definitely not fresh. Smells strong of cigs.

You heard about some shit called people watching from those crappy aesthetic blogs, so you decide to test it out. No one's wearing a mask, expected. It's Shitmart, you'd have a heartattack if you saw people following rules. Secondly, the amount of obese people is staggering.

Are you one of them too? Let's see!
You look down to your gut. Eh, there's a bit there, but nothing too crazy. Motorized wheelchair? Nope, never used one of those. Test passed!

"Time to go in I guess." You mumble aloud before making your way to the automatic door entrance. You come to a halt. "Open sesame." you command and the doors submit to your calls and open up the path.

"I just need to find the T.V. section and get the hell out of here." you say just loud enough for yourself to hear. You quickly grab a nearby cart and begin making your walk to the television section.

Actually, I should get a few things for dinner while I'm here, you think in your head. You make a detour to the meats section. You grab some chicken breasts and put them in the cart. Afterward, you wheel to another section to get some rice. That's it. Just rice and chicken. This is an ethnic household you know.

Time for the grand finale, you begin driving the car and your legs to the Electronics Department. You look around at the T.V.'s. "4k!, High Quality! 140p..." Wait, that's super fucking outdated. "1080p!" Much better. You find one for 400 bucks and put the box in the cart.

"Mommy! Can I get a new pillow my old one is getting flat." a high-pitched voice calls from another section.

You begin to twitch your left eyeball in reaction. Your fingers begin to twitch in unison.

"Of course, honey. Pick one out." a feminine voice replies to what you assume was a child.

"I like this one. "My Pillow!" It sounds silly mommy! How funny! Haha! Mommy! You heard me right?" The annoying child preaches.

You feel an adrenaline rush, an imitate urge to fight danger. You need to fucking stop this child from wrecking his life.

You leave the cart and make a run to the section they're in.

"STOP, YOU CAN'T LET YOUR CHILD BUY THAT SHIT, I'LL RUIN YOUR LIVES!" You yell.

"Why? Is it unenviornmentally friendly, anti-vegan, and contains gluten?" the woman asks.

"YES! STAND BACK!" you warn.

You grab a nearby butcher's knife off the shelf and wield it like a samurai sword. You lunge at the pillow and begin slicing it.

"DIE! DIE! DIE!" you cry as you slice the pillow to bits.

"MOMMY THEY'RE SCARING ME!" the boy screams. "Shush, it's called canceling, son." replies the parent.

You begin to maul the pillow with your teeth left to right like a wild dog. Spitting out some stuffing, rinse, repeat, until it is done.

You look at the flattened pillow that was killed by your hand in battle.

Until, you hear a voice on the store intercom, "cleanup in aisle four."

---

"What happened here?" The woman in the Shitmart vest asks you.

"That pillow almost endangered an underage boy child, ma'am." you reply.

"How so?" she persists.

"He Who Must Not Be Named is an evil entrepreneur who destroyed my life...  The death that wilts the petals of the rose who tries so hard to live on the battlefield of war... the one that-"
You're interrupted.

"Sir, this is a Shitmart and I'm asking you to leave." she crosses her arms as a defense mechanisms.

"Fine, but if he gets to you, don't come crying wolf back to me."

You are escorted out the store. You may have not got to buy a T.V., but you saved a life today.