There is a 75% off capitalism book sale at Small Press Distribution.
I am in New York, so frozen. I can’t halt my losing streak. “I don’t have all the answers.” I am a skittish dog; won’t approach you anymore. I am clinching, hopefully. This is obviously not enough. I am notching, speaking softly. I made you a salad. Do you approve the salad? Is it “good”? I own a dubious piece of history, my days. All of this written on stolen band width. Like confetti, I am going to go run now. On a treadmill, in a strange, cold town. Like confetti. Like confetti now. I bicycle through the mediocre sludge of my life. Keep pedaling! Look down! Improbable the way I inhale, exhale, sigh.
Here is a letter I wrote to Morningstar when they pissed me off:-
October 3, 200
Like a runover Jack-a-Lope. Like a wad of congealed soybean curd. Like an ogre-smelling yolk-faced spleen-ruptured wedge of jellyfish dung. Like a warlock-nosed liar. This is how I felt, after serving your Veggie Dogs Corn Dogs to my co-workers.
Why? Because some unidentified blue crinkly most likely biohazardous certainly FOREIGN object/polymer/worm (enclosed) appeared in the center of your Veggie Dogs Corn Dogs. In the center, I say, like a dragon’s tongue, or a galaxy helix, or, well, maybe a worm…
Let me explain. Most (I exclude Sally McPhee, since she is a lacto-ovo vegetarian and did go with me—eight times to be exact—to both my favorite movies [The Fellowship of the Ring, The Two Towers]) of my co-workers are lackadaisical asses, who are morally unsound and not even minimally decent human beings, with not one solitary iota of care or compassion for the unnecessary pain and suffering and frustration and torment of animals in this world. They have great concern for cellular phone covers and magazines about people who are filmed talking for a living (actors) and gigantic automobiles and grown men running around with inflated pigs under their arms (football) and internet porn and poisoning themselves with spirits and ales and tiny fires they build and purposely inhale (cigarettes), but they don’t give an Ostrich’s ass about the fellow citizens of their shared kingdom—the Animal Kingdom.
How do they treat me? How do they treat a conscientious vegan, a man with a heart and pancreas and soul, with an understanding of the cyclically holistic nature of our environment and earth? I’ll tell you. The carnivorous garbage-minded cynical selfish bastards say things like, “What you think we have teeth for, you dumbass!” and “I didn’t get to the top of the food chain to eat no pinto beans!” and “Why do you have toys on your desk?” and “Humans have throats built for drinking blood” and “Without protein, your lungs will explode” and all kinds of other insensitive and insulting and scientifically dubious statements.
I brought diet Dr. Pepper and your Veggie Dogs Corn Dogs to the Second Annual Safety/Employee Appreciation Day Potluck and Line Dance. I didn’t tell people they were vegetarian, but I guess they knew, knowing me, so most of them (except for Sally McPhee) avoided your product like it was a platter of oven-fried dynamite. They drank the diet Dr. Pepper. We all danced and ate and gossiped and then Bucky Small (quality control officer for parking lot maintenance, which means he doesn’t even have his GED and basically rides atop a vacuum mower all day long) holds up a half-eaten Veggie Dog Corn Dog and screams out to everyone in the cafeteria, “Look at this shit!!” And everyone stops, him screaming and flailing about like he’s having a seizure, and the music cuts out and everybody gathers round and Bucky passes the Veggie Dog Corn Dog to the MC, Dougie Knoxs from Automotives, who has one of those portable microphones he’s stolen from Electronics (my department, so I should know), and he yells (though there is never, ever any reason to yell into a microphone), “Thar’s a big blue worm coming out this here wiener!” And he’s right! Out the end of the half-eaten Veggie Dog is a thin crinkly string of neon blue polymer—I guess it’s a polymer… Is it? God, say it’s not a blue worm, or some skeleton of a blue worm. Well, I about fell out dead right there. You know why?
1.) I was embarrassed. When I get embarrassed, I faint. I did it once dressed as Mr. Spock at a Trekkie IV conference in Las Vegas when I was supposed to present a Vortex Fan Award and instead tumbled from the lectern into a crowd of drunken Romulans. The funny thing is they thought it was part of my speech. It was not.
2.) If the Veggie Dog was half-eaten, Sally Mcphee must have eaten half, since my other co-workers would rather drink razor blades embedded in molten lead than eat something made of “Styrofoam” as they label all vegetarian foods. Sally most likely saw the crinkly blue polymer, got sick, set the other half down, and blamed me. Now she won’t talk to me, ever. I mention the incident, repeatedly, and she sobs and says, “Leave me be, you freak!”
3.) Now everybody in my office has their misconceptions confirmed: vegetarian food is made of Styrofoam, or of opiates or paperclips or volcanic sand or some type of wallpaper glue, or maybe even blue worms. Everybody has guesses and believe me they inform me all day, every day—they say, “Maybe it’s dried up deck sealant?” or “It’s got to be a key” or “It’s because we’ve left the bible” or “More than likely a spy camera” or “I bet it’s one of them computer viruses.” And so on.
Would you please help? I need a letter, preferably official, explaining what exactly this blue crinkly polymer is all about. It was in the CENTER of the Veggie Dog Corn Dog. I am concerned, for my health, physically and mentally and emotionally. I once adored your products and now I question what I will find: aluminum gears in the Better ‘n Burgers? A # 2 pencil inside the Breakfast Sandwich with Cheese? Sea turtle eggs in the Crumbles? A kid with a coal shovel hidden within the Supreme Pizza? Who knows? Now, my life at work is hell in a heart basket. It sucks. I’ve lost my favorite lunch, my girl, and any reasoning or rationale for my vegan lifestyle, all in one fatalistic claptrap of a swoop.
I feel low. Help me.
Sean Aden Lovelace
I am reading this right now.
I like this guy. Sometimes I feel he is writing what I am about to write, feel.