Those using the term “fake news” are very clearly not both smart and honest.
I got a string attached to my thing…
… I can do my thing like I oughta.
2016 has been a real stinker and 2017 is shaping up to be even stinkier, so I propose that we carefully select a soundtrack for the last day of the year that will send an irresistible happy wiggle from the brain stem to the booty. Here’s my contribution — have you got one, too?
I can’t help but wonder just now what it might be like to be loved by one’s parents.
Happy fucking Xmas!
On Saturday I randomly encountered my acquaintance the capital-D Democrat who surprised me at the caucus by voting for Bernie Sanders. He did not surprise me at all on Saturday — he behaved as the loyal apparatchik, as though he wasn’t sitting just two seats away and looking right at me when I addressed the Democratic Party caucus several months ago. I was feeling grotesquely disrespected by the son of a bitch standing their preaching party gospel at me knowing my publicly stated views, but feeling fatigued at the time I opted to ignore the personal for the moment and explain, briefly, why I disrespect his beloved establishment. I told him, also, to watch the Sunday news out of Standing Rock.
The veterans got to Standing Rock and the government surrendered. The only new fact of the matter is the introduction into the path of violence of a class of citizens who cannot be scapegoated, so it’s settled: Our celebrated first black president is a racist, and that will be his legacy. It was perfectly okay to bring state violence to bear on behalf of a corporation breaking federal law as long as it was just Indians and renegades suffering it, but as soon as it was someone who couldn’t be scapegoated the US Army Corps of Engineers, of which Obama is commander in chief, did the right thing and ended the violence.
The truth, as they say, speaks for itself.
Jill Stein has got vote recounts going in one or more Rust Belt states that might alter our recent past and our future history, too… The recounts could be seen as good for democracy, a thing the US Constitution was never itself intended to be and so will soon enough be revised to prevent these grotesque outbreaks of it.
Remember the Shillary who thought her coronation her fate who proudly spouted rhetoric about being “a progressive who gets things done” and “fighting hard for the hard-working people of America”? If the Green Party’s fight for fair elections lands her in the White House, she’ll arrive as the representative of an establishment she has completely discredited by her own actions over the course of decades and of a party that has abandoned her and is distancing itself from her as it adopts a posture for the next election cycle. She’s already been shredded by a corporate media turned hostile and bitingly critical since judging her a loser, and the people have just seen that she won’t even fight for herself after seeing the same data that set Jill Stein into action because something smelled fishy. If she’s elected in this way, and doesn’t resign, her choice will be between just sitting there awaiting the further humiliation of impeachment and removal from office, or becoming the Hillary Clinton she never wanted or intended to be so has no idea how to be, the president of the people.
Most importantly, though, look at what just happened: An otherwise irrelevant kinda socialist chick saw what looked a lot like a won presidential election just lying there forfeit on the table, and said hey, Hillary, I think this is yours, you must have forgotten it. If the recounts change the outcome, the Democratic Party is dead because the only thing that prevented them from abandoning us to Needledick Donny was Jill Stein making Hillary take the office to which she’d been properly and fairly elected by the American people. If the recount changes the electoral college vote count but not the outcome, the Democratic Party is still shown as having not even tried even when Needledick was our fate because of it.
It seems safe to say that Jill Stein is the smartest politician in America today.
Wednesday afternoon we wandered into the downtown boutique that carried Amethyst’s jewelry on consignment, thinking that it being the last business day before Black Friday we should check inventory and restock as necessary. Inventory? What inventory? Where’s our inventory? It was missing from its former premier location and nowhere to be seen. What I quietly took notice of during my search was a big new display of truck stop/tourist trap jewelry bearing the shop’s brand, all under a banner announcing that it is offered at 30% off. Hmm. We’d been assured and reassured that our space was secure through Xmas so we weren’t in any hurry to secure another downtown retail space for it, and the boutique shop owner had very plainly and very egregiously violated the covenant of good faith. It was still just a mite early to call it clearly convincing evidence of anti-competitive action, though, so we took no action to retake the cooperative’s property.
The back half of the retail space is occupied by a business run by two sisters unrelated to the boutique except that they’re roomies in the retail space, which is a pretty common arrangement in dinky towns. Lately the boutique shop owner has been mostly absent and leaving it to the sisters to mind her store for her, which I take as a strong indication that the boutique is not profitable. One of the sisters was there minding the store and found our merchandise heaped in a haphazard pile on the boutique shopkeeper’s desk. She explained that she has no way of knowing what’s going on, though of course we already know and understand that… I remarked, having tentatively reached my own conclusion, that I knew precisely what was going on and was deeply disgusted by it.
We went back in yesterday, on Black Friday, hoping to see Amethyst’s jewelry on display as proof that my tentative judgment of the woman was wrong. No such luck. The product was still on the desk, captive. So much for our agreement, so much for the assurance that our space was secure, so much for the reputation of the boutique shop owner when we don’t volunteer to conceal the truth when asked “what happened that you’re not at the boutique any more?”.
Having clearly convincing evidence that the covenant of good faith had been violated, we convinced the roomie shopkeeper to witness our removal of our cooperative’s property. I thought it important to make the truth known so trusted that the roomie shopkeeper would indulge me a bit of a rant even if she thought it somewhat irrational, which appears to be precisely how she perceived it. The sister minding the store yesterday moved out of Dinkytown before I ever moved into it, so she doesn’t know us — I wouldn’t have faulted her for thinking we were just random hippies who blow into town to trade trinkets and complain about the unfair treatment received from uptight locals and I wanted to make damn sure she didn’t get to keep any such illusion. Whether my little dramatic non-rant did the trick or not, we ended up talking about our cooperative and our consignment agreement with the boutique. When she heard of our remarkable discount rate (consignment commission) she said something about keeping our expectations in line with the unprofitable terms we’d imposed. Bingo! Amethyst corrected her misunderstanding by explaining that those were the shopkeeper’s terms and we asked for no modification before accepting them as proposed. The lady’s eyes got wide at that bit of news.
We then talked about our wholesale rates and consignment ranges, and she took our phone number to give to a consignment merchant with whom she has some kind of business relationship in her home town, one on our list of product placement targets already. She said that it’s all but certain that the merchant will want to carry Amethyst’s jewelry, but of course not until January. No problem! If we can get into that town with an introduction from a local businessperson, and of course under reasonable terms, we’ll be very happy to do so. Retail space is far more important to us in those places where we don’t get the opportunity for direct sales.
With our business at the boutique thus happily enough for the circumstances of it concluded, we popped into another establishment to deliver a just-made piece that had been on backorder, and then went on about our usual meanderings for personal purposes. No sooner than we had got through the front doors of the supermarket, we heard a voice call out from behind the deli counter, “Hey, Amethyst! Got anything new today?”. I went off to gather our few purchases, and when I reached the deli counter afterward it was to find that Amethyst had in one quick sale equaled the combined sales of five months at the boutique, and all from among the very pieces we’d just rescued from captivity. And, of course, the truth of what had just happened at the boutique was delivered when the question was asked, too.
In the coming week, Amethyst has a tentative sales call with six more more women who all wish to buy from her, and then a local business expo downtown, just a common wall away from the boutique. At some point in the immediate future she’ll be selling a number of one design to a local startup business run by the young woman who was my youngest daughter’s arch rival until my kid got a bug up her ass and demanded to go live with her mother. That left the girl who stuck around to be the homecoming queen and all of that happy stuff, and the trendsetter for the twenty-somethings around Dinkytown. It might be helpful to us to have her wearing our stuff and giving it as gifts.
So, all in all, ain’t nuthin’ to be done about the anti-competitive underhandedness of the boutique shop, but ain’t no reason to worry too much about it, either. Success is the best revenge.