Damn corporate shrinkflating Charlie’s head on us.

Every time I go south I wonder how people down there are still alive. Between the sweet tea, biscuits and gravy, pork cracklings, boudin, and kolaches, I feel like I have to take a nap whenever I eat a meal.

There’s always time for one more bad decision, lol.

Yeah, I don’t think there’s a restaurant on Alberta that doesn’t have at least a little of this aesthetic.

That said, Pine State is worth the asking price and I’ll kill on that hill.

In a capitalist hellscape, any amount of damage is damaged beyond all hope because everyone is completely interchangeable, and ultimately, disposable.

So, y’know, you’re not wrong.

They’re efficient at maximizing profits for shareholders, usually at the dire expense of literally everyone else.

Of course without committing a crime before and without saying anything else.

You will probably commit a crime or misdemeanor unknowingly on the way to the station. There is a reason you do not talk to the police, even if you think you’re completely innocent.

https://youtu.be/d-7o9xYp7eE?si=ppgOcO6ZcOVPC0oB

Funnily enough, I do feel like an adult, mostly because I’ve been aware enough for long enough that everyone else is making it up as they go, that I can sense when people are on their bullshit and navigate it pretty effectively.

Also I’m making a lot of decisions that will hopefully insulate me from the consequences of my inevitable failure, but I hold no delusions that the safety net will ever be perfect or even good, or that some arbitrary amount of austerity would have bought me a house at this point, so I don’t starve myself of the little pleasures in the moment - today is the rainy day. I use my PTO, I get a little treat every once in a while, and I make myself as comfortable as I can. My life satisfaction has increased drastically with that in mind.

Used to work in a painting hangar and guys would regularly pilfer supplies. For most people it was just touch up brushes or minijet cups for minor stuff at home, but some people would be stealing whole rolls of masking tape, suits and hoods, sandpaper, bottles of rubbing alcohol and acetone, etc.

I know at least one guy who confided in me that he made a mint stealing supplies and painting cars on the side. He said the only thing he paid for was paint. I think the only reason nobody ever got called out on it was because our work was so good we were a preferred painter for UAE and Qatar planes, so everyone in the C-Suite was making millions of dollars and paying jack shit to the workers, and I’m guessing they figured the shrinkage was an acceptable cost of doing business.

Nobody’s lazy, we’re just reserving the best part of our time for ourselves.

Among the bushes.

We all know damn well the four day week inevitably comes with a pay cut. Big business won’t cede anything without getting theirs back.

Still all for it. Four day workweeks are better for the environment and mental health.

Anytime people start talking about supply and demand, I can’t help but think of the lines from The Grapes of Wrath:

The works of the roots of the vines, of the trees, must be destroyed to keep up the price, and this is the saddest, bitterest thing of all. Carloads of oranges dumped on the ground. The people came for miles to take the fruit, but this could not be. How would they buy oranges at twenty cents a dozen if they could drive out and pick them up? And men with hoses squirt kerosene on the oranges, and they are angry at the crime, angry at the people who have come to take the fruit. A million people hungry, needing the fruit- and kerosene sprayed over the golden mountains…

There is a crime here that goes beyond denunciation. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolize. There is a failure here that topples all our success. The fertile earth, the straight tree rows, the sturdy trunks, and the ripe fruit. And children dying of pellagra must die because a profit cannot be taken from an orange. And coroners must fill in the certificate- died of malnutrition- because the food must rot, must be forced to rot. The people come with nets to fish for potatoes in the river, and the guards hold them back; they come in rattling cars to get the dumped oranges, but the kerosene is sprayed. And they stand still and watch the potatoes float by, listen to the screaming pigs being killed in a ditch and covered with quick-lime, watch the mountains of oranges slop down to a putrefying ooze; and in the eyes of the people there is the failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.

Amazing how in eight decades and some change, that sentiment has not budged an inch. The only real difference is, in addition to the food wasted and the dumpsters locked to keep out the homeless, they’re dumping shit like Funko Pops in the millions. All this plastic tat that’s literally killing the planet, that nobody in their right mind would want in a million years if the sickness of capitalism didn’t tell them it was precious.