I hear you are looking for people to help you kill some animals. Well, look no further. I am your man. This filthy pandemic, and our government’s unhinged response to it, has made me very angry. I have been wanting to murder something since March. Thing is, you kill a person these days and you can go to jail for up to, I don’t know, what’s the going rate … two weeks? A month?
Right. There’s obviously more to this than meets the eye. This is the start of the column that appears in today’s edition of The Citizen.
The editor, who graciously offered to host my column 18 months ago, has asked me to refrain from posting my weekly literary expectorations here and on social media.
He would prefer it that my unruly legion of readers either bought or subscribed to the newspaper if they wished to read my column. This is understandable.
Prostitutes are faced with a similar situation when it comes to men who, swan-like, pledge their loyalty to only one person forever more. It’s bad for business. If you can get the same service for free at home, why would you pay to get it from us?
Since I am now aware that the editor knows I have been posting my column here a day or two after he has had his way with it, let me just say that I am in no way equating him with a prostitute. I felt in need of a metaphor and it was the only one that came along.
We live in a world of unfairness and it would seem, well, unfair, to add to it. Not without being rewarded, anyway. I post my Citizen column online in the hope that as many people as possible will read it and then shower me with adoration. Or hate mail. I don’t really mind either way. Like any decent drug dealer, I know distribution is the key that unlocks the golden pig. I have yet to find the pig.
By whorishly putting my words about for any grizzled punter to come along and read for free, I am taking money out of the mouths of everyone who works at The Citizen.
Okay, that might be overstating things. But it seems fairly obvious that the paper wouldn’t be able to afford columnists (or anything at all) if nobody bought it. By offering my column for free, once it’s been published, I am effectively sabotaging myself. It’s almost Shakespearean.
So. There it is. If you love me as much as you say you do, and I’ve been married twice so there’s no reason to think you’re lying, you will either buy the paper or subscribe. If you’re really strapped, you can even just buy the Wednesday edition, when my column comes out. It’s, like, R7 or something. If you can’t afford that, you have no business being online.
And for those of you who think Eschel Rhoodie is still in charge of The Citizen, you can fuck right off.
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