The Refrigerator Cuts to the Chase

The refrigerator door is open, the light is on; an amazing amount of both nothing and everything is being carried out inside the refrigerator by agents of both the New Administration and members of the Deep State, the busy-bodies of both the Left and the Right.

 I fetch the toilet paper to mop up the messes made by the plutocrats, leave a note on the refrigerator door to be held tight by a little magnet—Your stupid mean-spirited project is doomed, you know that don’t you? Trust me, you’ve hit a snag and we’re shutting it down!

Why not stop moaning, Brooks, and just cut to the chase instead, as plutocrats themselves cut to the chase? Yet I dislike the language—just cut to the chase—and find it offensive, as offensive as the :30 second TV commercial that asks, “What’s in Your Wallet?”

I’m never sure if the question, “What’s in Your Wallet”, is actually an interrogative or a command?

 Of course, it’s a command, a soft, friendly, invitational command but a command nevertheless, a direct order in fact, voiced by highly paid actors and actresses who’ve thoroughly rehearsed the question, raising it to a kind of art form.

I’m not the sort of person to put either sleights or praise on the scale to see how much one or the other weighs, to determine whether I’ll get credit or praise or damnation from the weighmaster.

 Plutocrats always get more than they deserve; it seems to work that way. I don’t identify Plutocratic; plutocrats know everything and they talk too much about how much they know. A Plutocrats’s first instinct is always to talk about himself; the second instinct is to hire a highly paid actor or actress to say his words for him since he owns the company.

 I identify as Buddhist, if I identify as anything; bloviation is not a quality I seek. Whatever is in my wallet is in my wallet.