Mother's Ruin

Episode Two: Mother's Ruin.
In which the Soap Strip folk quibble over semantics.

1 comment:

  1. The Fine Print. Faust sells his soul, but finds the terms disagreeable. Or does he win out in the end?

    No matter. I'm stuck arguing the contract, and Squidman is not helpful: he cannot employ reason. The cow costume was a reference to a big marketing scheme that our questionably-qualified VP implemented at the newspaper where I was working at the time. Rather than address the devastating competition posed by free online classified merchants (when directly asked this she came up blank), she put someone dancing in a cow costume in front of the building. The cow reference was thin: Classified On Web. COW. And the margin of success even thinner. It was a terrible, weak idea.

    It's a homonymic transition to Maslow from Marlowe. Moral concerns around soul-selling are trumped by the ongoing need to address the realities of living: always at the bottom of the tier of hierarchy of needs - food, shelter, warmth. Can't afford the luxury of advanced gender theory.

    This is something the community of my current employment, Goddard College, can't get their heads around: the people who work for shit wages, who get fired every three months (as are the kitchen workers here) are expected to be able to keep up with the latest in political discussion and nuance. But anyone with a heart should see that those people are simply scrabbling to make ends meet. In the end, everyone is just a fucking idiot.

    And, so, I turn to gin. Mother's Ruin.



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