I hope this is alright. This isn’t a repost, but it is kind of a rehash:
As my imaginary uncle, who was in the mob, used to say, it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission, so…
I posted previously that I am donating all of my royalty proceeds to this great site to support the cause. ALL ROYALTIES ON ALL SALES between now and January 31, 2013, will be donated to this site, to continue this ground assault on Christmas and all she stands for. I can resupply the coffers to embolden us for the fight v. Christmas next year, when the Christmas trees will all be the right height, the sweet smell of cordite will be in the air, and war will again begin anew.
No, I do not sell Freedom Fries or Freedom Roast. I am an author. I lampoon things and skewer things.
Please buy Aldus Shrugged and all of my author royalties will be donated to dailykos; AND you will get a great read, you will feel better, you will laugh at the GOP, at Ayn Rand, at Fox News, at assholes one and all.
'Mrs. Rosenbaum, uhh, I know you only drink tea, but…you know the French Roast, right? You know, the dark roasted coffee. I was thinking of calling it Freedom Roast instead.’ I was half kidding, but I thought it would be a kick to actually do it. She loved the idea, and it seemed to turn her mood around. She actually smiled at me as I went on. ‘Yeah, we’re gonna call it Freedom Roast, and I’m gonna put up a big sign saying that it’s ground exclusively by Americans!’
Dessa said to me in a low voice, ‘You know, it’s funny. A lot of West African people don’t like the French either. They were our colonizers!’
Of course Mrs. Rosenbaum liked the idea. Ayn Rand’s real name was Rosenbaum. Dessa, by the way, is our protagonist’s friend and employee. She is Black, born and raised in Brooklyn, but with a Mende accent when she wants it.
And a little later…after our protagonist meets President Obama and becomes a little famous, like a progressive Joe the Plumber, all Tea Party hell breaks loose outside of his coffee shop…
It seemed as if the crowd was growing restless, waiting for someone or something. My thoughts were broken by a screaming threesome of red-faced spittle-launching lipless men, shouting with such disgust and hatred that I didn’t make out a word of it. Their spit was sailing into the window and sticking there, just as their hatred for me and everything about our little business. I just stood on the other side of the glass, like I was in the zoo. But was I the gawking visitor, or the resident beast? Did it even matter? I raised my palms and shrugged my shoulders at them, like what the fuck? They screamed even louder, really frothing, flailing their arms as if they wanted to grab a hold of me, or anybody in here, to throttle for no reason and for every reason under the goddamned risen sun. In their rage, they were pointing behind me at Dessa, I guessed, and shouting about her grinding the coffee. This was now beyond ridiculous. Just then, Mrs. Rosenbaum slipped in the door, and marched right up to the counter, empowered as all hell, pointed right at Dessa, and shouted, ‘YOU! YOU! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU TO TOUCH THAT FREEDOM ROAST???!!!’
Oh good God, that’s their issue? That’s what they reached for?
I hope you enjoy it! I find it to be quite
cathartic, and quite funny.
Meanwhile, I make about 30% of the gross on royalties. So, if you click here and buy Aldus Shrugged, a Capitalist Manifesto, The Antidote to Ayn Rand, you will be supporting this site, my continued progressive writing, and Jeff Bezos (the not-so-dickish CEO) and his hard-working retail employees.
Please watch out for my next satirical political novel about mid-2013; set in Brooklyn, in the time of President Obama's 2nd term.