
The Hilltop Shop is essential to surviving on the Hill. Need laundry detergent? Cheeto Puffs? A month-old refrigerated sandwich? You go to the Hilltop Shop. There’s no way in hell I’m making that long-ass walk down and back to Ralphs just to satisfy my desperate need for a Diet Coke. We have no other option. The UCLA store runs the hill with the iron fist of totalitarianism.
Now, we all know stealing is bad. Stealing from orphans, babies, et cetera is rightly frowned upon. But as Thomas Jefferson once said, “If a law is unjust, a man is not only right to disobey it, he is obligated to do so.” I have no other option to satisfy my intense, American munchies, and they dare charge five fucking dollars for a single Snickers bar? Ten bucks for a stick of deodorant? Twenty smackers for the smallest bottle of DayQuil known to man? That’s unjust. That’s anti-American. They hate freedom. It’s my patriotic duty to shoplift from the Hilltop shop. Every time I walk out of there with my pockets stuffed full of Nerds Gummy Clusters, I carry the spirit of the American Revolution with me. I can practically hear George Washington marching next to me, with drummer boys and flutists keeping the beat of our stride.
The Hilltop Shop is taxing me without representation. I give UCLA sixty thousand American dollars every single year and it has the nerve, nay, the gumption to overcharge me seven dollars for a half-bag of gummy bears? Tyranny! I look down on those weenies who grab a Celsius with nary a pocket to hide it in and don’t even glance to see if the employees are looking at them. These are traitors to the cause of freedom. Redcoats! Join me, my patriot brothers, as we dump UCLA’s entire supply of Sleepytime tea into the Sunset Rec pool. Ride with me, ride!