Add more smells, and tastes to your novel, because the next big thing in the world of books is scented novels. If your novel is lacking in descriptions that excite the nose, you will be left behind.
I know right now you think this is totally silly, but I tell you, scented novels is coming up soon. Smelling stuff is great. Think about when you were a child, and you got those scratch & sniff stickers. How amazing were they?
Well, prediction pundits in the publishing industry are predicting that the publishing industry is soon to start pushing novels that have scratch & sniff sections. Imagine, reading a Harry Potter book, and being able to scratch & sniff Hermione Granger, I mean butter beer.
Wouldn't that just blow your mind? Who wouldn't pay good money to smell the smells from Harry Potter, or another equally merchandisable book series?

I’m going to see my doctor on Tuesday and hopefully get medicated, but I just want to complain.
Four weeks ago, I couldn’t put my shoe on due to pain in a big toe. I called into work and went to urgent care, and then got diagnosed with gout. I was given prednisone and colchicine and it went away. I read up on what I need to do, cut out drinking, cut out red meat, and upped my water. I was already drinking a gallon of water a day, but now I’m drinking a gallon and matching whatever coffee I drink (usually two cups) with additional water.
Last week, I was out of town, and I saw there was an In-N-Out nearby. I figured I had been mostly vegetarian for two weeks, so I would get a burger. The closest In-N-Out to my house is five hours away, so it was a treat. That was on a Saturday. Sunday I could barely walk, but on Monday it was like nothing had happened.
Last night I was at a brewery with my friends. I had one Pilsner - mind you, normally I’m an IPA guy, so even though I was cheating, I thought I was cheating in an informed way lol. Today I had to cancel a hike. I’m not limping yet, but I can feel it coming.
Two months ago I could have a burger and a beer and my body wouldn’t have cared. It’s just so frustrating that it all changed one Thursday morning. No warning - or at least no warning I knew to look for. I have no family that I know of with gout. I have TONS of family I know with hypertension who never sought medical advice and died at an early age. I tried to be proactive at the first sign of high blood pressure, got put in a diuretic, and now I’m here. Oh well. I guess I have something to warn my children about if I ever have any.
Anyway, that is all. I just needed to vent.

Make & Model: Spyderco PM2 in S30V
Spots / Price: 110 @ $1
Total Price: $110
Timestamp & pics: Here there’s a video at the end that shows the condition pretty well.
Usual rules apply... ​
• PAYMENTS ARE F&F ONLY. DO NOT PUT ANYTHING IN THE NOTES!!!
• IF YOU ARE FORCED TO ENTER A NOTE, USE A GENERIC NOTE LIKE “PIZZA” “LUNCH” “BEERS” NEVER EVER EVER USE “RAFFLE”!!!!
• PLEASE BE CLEAR WITH YOUR SPOT CALLS
• IF YOU REQUEST A SPECIFIC SPOT AND YOUR CALLED SPOT IS ALREADY TAKEN IT WILL BE REPLACED WITH RANDOM UNLESS YOU SPECIFY OTHERWISE
Description: This is a user for sure! Picked this one up with grand intentions of doing/getting a bunch of mods done, but as you can tell it never came to fruition. This is an S30V PM2 with signs of carry on the scales, and signs of use on the blade. It’s not sharp, it’s not pretty. There’s micro scratches on the blade, maybe from a guided sharpener, maybe from cutting something, I don’t know. The edge is not very sharp, and there’s a small knick in the middle of the blade. I’d be happy to put a fresh edge on it for the winner if they’d like. Comes with the original box
International shipping: winner covers costs above standard shipping, and assumes all risks once it leaves the US.

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I've shared fiction here before and it didn't go altogether too poorly, so I'm going to press my luck and do it again. This was written about a year ago, and I'm tired of trying to peddle it to lit magazines. Might as well share it here, know that it met a few eyeballs, and have done with it.
It's relevant to the sub insofar as it's about urban alienation and the working conditions at a small business run by IN THIS HOUSE WE BELIEVE people. (I tried to pitch it as a story of the great resignation with a momentary flicker of cosmic horror.) It's based on a similar job I took on after getting laid off during the lockdown, and the circumstances of the main character's breakup are faintly similar to one I went through several years back (her job sucked the life out of her).
Without further ado:
* * *
It was getting close to midnight, and the temperature outside was still above 80 degrees. We’d locked up the shop at 10:15 and walked over to Twenty, the dive bar on Poplar Street, where a single wall-mounted air conditioner and four wobbly ceiling fans weren’t putting up much resistance against the July heat baking the place from the outside and the dense mass of bodies giving it a stifling fever from within.
Just now I came close to saying it was a Wednesday night, because that was usually when the cyclists descended upon Avenue Brew, the gritty-but-bougie craft beer and sandwich shop I was working at back then. Every Wednesday between March and November, about fifteen to twenty-five Gen Xers dressed in skintight polyester, all packages and camel toes and fanny packs, locked up their thousand-dollar bikes on the sidewalk and lined up for IPAs and paninis. They reliably arrived around 8:00, an hour before we closed, making it impossible to get started on the closing checklist and leave on time at 10:00. The worst of them were demanding and rude, and even the best got raucous and stubborn after a couple drinks. There were nights when bringing in the sidewalk tables couldn’t be done without arguing with them. Most were sub-par tippers, to boot.
After Wednesday came and went that week without so much as a single 40-something in Ray Bans and padded shorts stopping in to double-fist two cans of Jai Alai, we dared to hope the cyclists had chosen another spot to be their finish line from there on out. But no—they’d only postponed their weekly ride, and swarmed us on Friday night instead.
I was the last person to find out; I was clocked in as purchaser that evening. The position was something like a promotion I'd received a year earlier: for twenty hours a week, I got to retreat from the public and sit in the back room with the store laptop, reviewing sales and inventory, answering emails from brewery reps, and ordering beer, beverages, and assorted paper goods. When I put in hours as purchaser, my wage went up from $11 to $15 an hour, but I was removed from the tip pool. On most days, tips amounted to an extra two or three dollars an hour, so I usually came out ahead.
This was back in 2021. I don't know what Avenue Brew pays these days.
Anyway, at about 8:15, I stepped out to say goodbye to everyone and found the shop in chaos. Friday nights were generally pretty active, the cyclists' arrival had turned the place into a mob scene. The line extended to the front door. The phone was ringing. The Grubhub tablet dinged like an alarm clock without a snooze button. Danny was on the sandwich line and on the verge of losing his temper. Oliver was working up a sweat running food, bussing tables, and replenishing ingredients from the walk-in. The unflappable Marina was on register, and even she seemed like she was about to snap at somebody.
What else could I do? I stayed until closing to answer the phone, process Grubhub orders, hop on and off the second register, and help Danny with sandwich prep. After the tills were counted out, I stayed another hour to take care of the dishes, since nobody had a chance to do a first load. Oliver was grateful, even though he grumbled about having to make some calls and rearrange Sunday's schedule so I could come in a couple hours late. Irene and Jeremy, Avenue Brew's owners, would kick his ass if he let me go into overtime.
Danny suggested that we deserved a few drinks ourselves after managing to get through the shift without killing anyone. Not even Marina could find a reason to disagree with him.
The neighborhood had undergone enough gentrification to support an upscale brunch spot, an ice cream parlor, a gourmet burger restaurant, a coffee and bahn mi shop, and Avenue Brew (to name a few examples), but not yet quite enough that the people who staffed them couldn’t afford to live within a ten-minute walk from the main avenue where all these hep eateries stood between 24-hour corner stores with slot machines in back, late-night Chinese and Mexico-Italian takeout joints with bulletproof glass at the counters, and long-shuttered delis and shoe stores. Twenty on Poplar was the watering hole set aside for people like us. It was dim, a bit dilapidated, and inexpensive, and usually avoided by denizens of the condos popping up on the vacant lots and replacing clusters of abandoned row houses.
When we arrived, Kyle waved us over. He didn’t work at Avenue Brew anymore, but still kept up with a few of us. He was at Twenty at least four nights out of the week.
So there we all were. I sat with a brooding stranger freestyling to himself in a low mumble on the stool to my left and Oliver on my right, who tapped at his phone and nursed a bottle of Twisted Tea. To Oliver’s right sat Marina, staring at nothing in particular and trying to ignore Danny, who stood behind her, closer than she would have liked, listening to Kyle explain the crucial differences between the Invincible comic book and the Invincible web series.
I recall being startled back to something like wakefulness when it seemed to me that the ceiling had sprouted a new fan. I blinked my eyes, and it wasn’t there anymore. It reminded me of an incident from when I was still living with my folks in South Jersey and still had a car, and was driving home from a friend’s house party up in Bergen County. It was 6:30 AM, I hadn’t slept all night, and needed to get home so I could get at least little shuteye before heading to Whole Foods for my 11:00 AM shift. I imagined I passed beneath the shadows of overpasses I knew weren’t there, and realized I was dreaming at the wheel.
I was pretty thoroughly zombified at that point. Heather and I had broken up for good the night before, and I hadn't gotten even a minute of sleep. Calling out at Avenue Brew was tough. Unless you found someone willing to cover your shift on like six hours' notice, you were liable to get a writeup, a demotion, or your hours cut if you couldn't produce a doctor's note. So I loaded up on caffeine pills and Five-Hour Energy bottles at the corner store, and powered through as best I could.
I finished the last thimbleful of Blue Moon in my glass. Oliver wiped the sweat from the back of his neck with a napkin and covered his mouth to stifle a laugh at the KiwiFarms thread he was scrolling through. Pool balls clacked; somebody swore and somebody laughed. The TouchTunes box was playing Bob Dylan’s “Rain Day Woman #12 & 35,” and enough bleary 40-something men around the bar were bobbing their heads and mouthing the words to make it impossible to determine which one of them paid two bucks to hear it. A guy by the cigarette machine who looked like a caricature of Art Carney in flannel and an old Pixies T-shirt was accosting a woman who must have been a toddler when he hit drinking age, and she momentarily made eye contact with me as she scanned the area for a way out. Danny was shouting over the bartender’s head, carrying on a conversation with the Hot Guy from Pizza Stan’s, who was sitting on the horseshoe’s opposite arm.
I never got his name, but when Oliver first referred to him as the Hot Guy from Pizza Stan’s, I knew exactly who he meant. Philly scene kid par excellence. Mid-20s, washed-out black denim, dyed black hair, thick bangs, and dark, gentle eyes. He was only truly alluring when he was on the job, because he seldom smiled then—and when he smiled, he broke the spell by exposing his teeth, stained a gnarly shade of mahogany from too much smoking and not enough brushing.
“How’s Best? Marcus still a joker?” Danny asked him.
“Yeah, you know Marcus. You know how he is.”
So the Hot Guy had been working at Best Burger (directly across the street from Avenue Brew) ever since Pizza Stan’s owners mismanaged the place unto insolvency. (Afterwards it was renovated and reopened as a vegan bakery—which incidentally closed down about a month ago.) Danny used to work at Best Burger, but that ended after he got into a shouting match with the owner. I happened to overhear it while I was dragging in the tables and collecting the chairs from the sidewalk the night it happened. It wasn’t any of my business, and I tried not to pay attention, but they were really tearing into each other. A month later, Oliver welcomed Danny aboard at Avenue Brew. I hadn’t known he’d been interviewed, and by then it was too late to mention the incident. But I’d have been a hypocrite to call it a red flag after the way I resigned from my position as Café Chakra's assistant manager two years earlier—not that we need to go dredging that up right now. Let's say there was some bad blood and leave it at that.
Anyway, I was thinking about giving in and buying a pack of cigarettes from the machine—and then remembered that Twenty didn’t have a cigarette machine. I looked again. The Art Carney-lookalike was still there, fingering his phone with a frown, but the girl was gone—and so was the cigarette machine.
I had only a moment to puzzle over this before Danny clapped me on the shoulder and thrust a shot glass in front of me.
“Starfish!” he said. (Danny called me Starfish. Everybody else called me Pat.) “You look like you need some juice.”
He distributed shots to everyone else. Marina declined hers, but changed her mind when Kyle offered to take it instead.
She and Kyle had stopped sleeping together after Kyle left Avenue Brew to work at the Victory taproom on the Parkway, but Marina was still concerned about his bad habits, which Danny delighted in encouraging.
We all leaned in to clink our glasses. Before I could find an appropriate moment to ask Marina if I could bum a cigarette, she got up to visit the bathroom. Danny took her seat and bowed his head for a conspiratorial word with Kyle.
I watched from the corner of my eye and tried to listen in. Like Marina, I was a little worried about Kyle. He got hired at Avenue Brew around the same time I did, just before the pandemic temporarily turned us into a takeout joint. He was a senior at Drexel then, an English major, and sometimes talked about wanting to either find work in publishing or carve out a career as a freelance writer after graduating. But first he intended to spend a year getting some life in before submitting himself to the forever grind.
He read a lot of Charles Bukowski and Hunter Thompson. He relished the gritty and sordid, and had already been good at sniffing it out around the neighborhood and in West Philly before Danny introduced him to cocaine, casinos, strip clubs, and a rogue’s gallery of shady but fascinating people. (None were really Danny’s friends; just fellow passengers who intersected with the part of his life where he sometimes went to Parx, sometimes came out ahead, sometimes spent his winnings on coke, and sometimes did bumps at titty bars.) Kyle recounted these adventures with a boyish enthusiasm for the naked reality of sleaze, like a middle schooler telling his locker room buddies about catching his older brother in flagrante and seeing so-and-so body parts doing such-and-such things.
Marina hated it. She never said as much to me, but she was afraid that the template Kyle set for his life during his “year off” was in danger of becoming locked in. The anniversary of his graduation had already passed, and now here he was trying to convince Danny to contribute a couple hundred dollars toward a sheet of acid his guy had for sale. He wasn't doing much writing lately.
I was the oldest employee at Avenue Brew (as I write this I’m 37, but fortunately I don’t look it), and when Kyle still worked with us I felt like it was my prerogative to give him some advice. The longer he waited to make inroads, I once told him, the more likely he’d be seen as damaged goods by the publishing world. He needed to jam his foot in the door while he was still young.
I could tell the conversation bored him, and didn’t bring up the subject again.
The bartender took my glass and curtly asked if I’d like another drink.
“No thanks, not yet,” I answered.
She slid me my bill.
I missed the old bartender, the one she’d replaced. I forget her name, but she was ingenuous and energetic and sweet. Pretty much everyone had some sort of crush on her. Sometimes she came into Avenue Brew for lunch, and tipped us as well as we tipped her. Maybe three months before that night—Danny witnessed it—she suddenly started crying and rushed out the door. Everyone at the bar mutely looked to each other for an explanation. (Fortunately for Twenty, the kitchen manager hadn’t left yet, and picked up the rest of her shift.)
She never came back. None of us had seen her since. But drafts still had to be poured and bottlecaps pulled off, and now here was another white woman in her mid-twenties wearing a black tank top, a pushup bra, and a scrunchie, same as before. Twenty’s regulars grew accustomed to not expecting to see the person she’d replaced, and life went on.
“How’re you doing?” I asked Oliver, just to say something to somebody, and to keep my thoughts from wandering back to Heather.
“Just kind of existing right now,” he answered. His phone lay face-up on the counter. He was swiping through Instagram, and I recognized the avatar of the user whose album he hate-browsed.
“And how’s Austin been?” I asked.
“Oh, you know. Not even three weeks after getting over the jetlag from his trip back from the Cascades, he’s off touring Ireland.” He shook his head. “Living his best life.”
He’d hired Austin on a part-time basis in September. We needed a new associate when Emma was promoted to replace a supervisor who'd quit without even giving his two weeks. There was a whole thing. I'm having a hard time recalling the guy's name, but I liked him well enough. He was a good worker and he seemed like a bright kid, but he was—well, he was young. Naïve. One day he found Jeremy sitting in the back room with his laptop, and took advantage of the open-door policy to ask why the store manager and supervisors didn’t get health benefits or paid time off. Jeremy told him it "was being worked on," and that he couldn’t discuss it any further at that time. I understand the kid got argumentative, though I never knew precisely what was said.
Irene started visiting the shop a lot more often after that, almost always arriving when the kid was working. No matter what he was doing, she’d find a reason to intervene, to micromanage and harangue him, and effectively make his job impossible. A coincidence, surely.
It’s something I still think about. By any metric, Jeremy and Irene have done very well for themselves. They’re both a little over 40 years old. I remember hearing they met at law school. In addition to Avenue Brew, they own a bistro in Francisville and an ice cream parlor in Point Breeze. They have a house on the Blue Line, send their son to a Montessori school, and pull up to their businesses in a white Volkswagen ID.4. But whenever the subject of benefits, wages, or even free shift meals came up, they pled poverty. It simply couldn’t be done. But they liked to remind us about all they did to make Avenue Brew a fun place to work, like let the staff pick the music and allow Oliver and me to conduct a beer tasting once a day. They stuck Black Lives Matter, Believe Women, and Progress flag decals on the front door and windows, and I remember Irene wearing a Black Trans Lives Matter shirt once or twice when covering a supervisor's shift. None of the college students or recent graduates who composed most of Avenue Brew's staff could say the bosses weren't on the right team. And yet...
I'm sorry—I was talking about Austin. He was maybe 30 and already had another job, a “real” job, some sort of remote gig lucrative enough for him to make rent on a studio in the picturesque Episcopal church down the street that had been converted into upscale apartments some years back. Austin wasn’t looking for extra cash. He wanted to socialize. To have something to do and people to talk to in the outside world. He wanted to make friends, and all of us could appreciate that—but it’s hard to be fond of a coworker who irredeemably sucks at his job. Austin never acted with any urgency, was inattentive to detail, and even after repeated interventions from Oliver and the supervisors, he continued to perform basic tasks in bafflingly inefficient ways. Having Austin on your shift meant carrying his slack, and everyone was fed up after a few months. Oliver sat him down, told him he was on thin ice, and gave him a list of the areas in which he needed to improve if he didn’t want to be let go.
When Austin gave Oliver the indignant “I don’t need this job” speech, it was different from those times Danny or I told a boss to go to hell and walked out. Austin truly didn’t need it. He basically said the job was beneath him, and so was Oliver.
It got deep under Oliver’s skin. He did need the job and had to take it seriously, even when it meant being the dipshit manager chewing out a man four or five years his senior. He earned $18 an hour (plus tips when he wasn’t doing admin work), had debts to pay off, and couldn't expect to get any help from his family.
The important thing, though, the part I distinctly remember, was that Oliver was looking at a video of a wading bird Austin had recorded. An egret, maybe. White feathers, long black legs, pointy black beak. Austin must have been standing on a ledge above a creek, because he had an overhead view of the bird as it stood in the water, slowly and deliberately stretching and retracting its neck, eyeing the wriggling little shadows below. As far as the fish could know, they were swimming around a pair of reeds growing out of the silt. The predator from which they extended was of a world beyond their understanding and out of their reach.
The video ended. Oliver moved on to the next item: a photograph of the bird from the same perspective, with a fish clamped in its beak. Water droplets flung from the victim's thrashing tail caught the sunlight. And I remember now, I clearly remember, the shapes of like twelve other fish stupidly milling about the bird's feet, unperturbed and unpanicked.
Danny peered at Oliver’s phone and observed a resemblance between the bird—its shape and bearing, and the composition of the photograph—and a POV porn video shot from behind and above, and he told us so. Elaborately. He made squawking noises.
“And mom says I’m a degenerate,” Oliver sighed. “Can you practice your interspecies pickup artist shit somewhere else?” Oliver flicked his wrist, shooing Danny off, and held his phone in front of his face to signal that he was done talking.
Danny sagged a little on his stool and turned away. I sometimes felt bad for him. For all his faults, he had the heart of a puppy dog. He really did think of us as his tribe. There was nobody else who’d only ever answer “yes” when you asked him to pick up a shift, and he did it completely out of loyalty.
He was turning 29 in a week. I wondered how many people would actually turn out to celebrate with him at the Black Taxi. Kyle probably would—but even he regarded Danny more as a source of vulgar entertainment than a friend.
Then it happened again. When I turned to speak to Oliver, there’d been a pair of pool cues leaning side-by-side against the wall a few stools down. Now they were gone.
This time it might have been my imagination. Somebody passing by could have casually snatched them up and kept walking.
But a moment later I seemed to notice a second TouchTunes box protruding from the wall directly behind me. I let it be.
Marina returned from the bathroom. Danny rose and offered her back her seat with an exaggerated bow. Before she got settled, I asked if she’d like to step outside with me. She withdrew her pack of Marlboro Menthols from her canvas bag, which she left sitting on the stool to deter Danny from sitting back down.
Marina never minded letting me bum cigarettes from time to time. I couldn’t buy them for myself anymore; it’s a habit I could never keep under control, and was only getting more expensive. Like everything else in the world. About once a month I reimbursed her by buying her a pack.
The air out on the sidewalk was as hot as the air inside Twenty, but easier to breathe. After lighting up, Marina leaned against the bricks and sighed.
“I wish Oliver would fire Danny already and get it over with.”
I nodded. Marina rarely talked about anything but work.
“He sneaks drinks and doesn't think anyone notices he's buzzed,” she went on. “He steals so much shit and isn’t even a little subtle about it. He’s going to get Oliver in trouble. And he’s a creep.”
“Yeah,” I said. These were her usual complaints about Danny, and they were all true. “At least he’s better than Austin.”
“That’s a low bar.”
Three dirt bikes and an ATV roared down the lonely street, charging through stop sign after stop sign, putting our talk on hold.
“Remind me. You’ve got one semester left, right?” I asked after the noise ebbed.
“Yep.”
Marina was a marketing major at Temple. She’d had an internship during the spring semester, and her boss told her to give her a call the very minute she graduated. Her parents in central Pennsylvania couldn’t pay her rent or tuition for her, so she was a full-time student and a full-time employee at Avenue Brew. Her emotional spectrum ranged from "tired" to "over it." She’d been waiting tables and working at coffee shops since she was seventeen, had no intention of continuing for even a day longer than she had to, and feared the escape hatch would slam shut if she dallied too long after prying it open.
She’d considered majoring in English, like Kyle. She went for marketing instead. I couldn’t blame her.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You’ve been kind of off all day.”
“I’m terrible.”
“Why?”
I gave dodgy answers, but she asked precisely the right follow-up questions to get me going about what happened with Heather the night before.
It was the new job. Before the pandemic, Heather worked as a server at a Center City bar and grill. (That's where I met her; we were coworkers for about a year, and then I left to work Café Chakra because it was quieter and closer to where I lived.) When the place closed its doors and laid everyone off during the lockdown, she got a stopgap job at the Acme on Passyunk, and hated it. Then in March, she found a bar-and-lounge gig in a ritzy hotel on Broad Street. Very corporate. Excellent pay, great benefits. Definitely a step up. But her new employers made Irene and Jeremy look like Bob and Linda Belcher by comparison. It was the kind of place where someone had recently gotten herself fired for leaving work to rush to the hospital after getting the news that her grandmother was about to be taken off life support, and not finding someone to come in and cover the last two hours of her shift.
Heather seldom worked fewer than fifty-five hours a week, and her schedule was even more erratic than mine. At least once a week she left the hotel at 1:00 or 2:00 AM and returned at 9:00 the next morning. Neither of us could remember the last time she’d had two consecutive days off, and it had been over a month since one of mine overlapped with one of hers. She’d spent it drinking alone at home. All she wanted was some privacy.
I’d biked to South Philly to meet her when she got home at 1:30. The argument that killed our relationship for good began around 2:30, when I complained that we never had sex anymore. Heather accused me of only caring about that, when she was so exhausted and stressed that her hair was falling out in the shower. Quit the job? She couldn’t quit. The money was too good. She had student loans, medical bills, and credit card debt, and for the first time in her life she could imagine paying it all off before hitting menopause.
So, yeah, I was cranky about our sex life being dead in the water. Say whatever you like. But at that point, what were we to each other? We did nothing together anymore but complain about work before one or both of us fell asleep. That isn’t a relationship.
She said my hair always smelled like sandwiches, even after bathing, and she was done pretending it didn’t turn her off. I told her she was one to talk—she always reeked of liquor. As things escalated, we stopped caring if her roommates heard us. “You want to be a father?” she shouted around 4:00 AM. “Making what you make? That poor fucking kid.”
We fought until sunrise, and I left her apartment with the understanding that I wouldn’t be coming back, wouldn’t be calling her ever again. I biked home and sat on the steps facing the cement panel that was my house’s backyard. After my phone died and I couldn’t anaesthetize myself with dumb YouTube videos or make myself feel crazy staring at the download button for the Tinder app, I watched the sparrows hopping on and off the utility lines for a while.
At 11:40 I went inside. One of my roommates was already in the shower, so the best I could do was put on a clean Avenue Brew T-shirt before walking to the shop and clocking in at noon to help deal with the lunch rush.
“That’s a lot,” Marina finally said. “Sorry.”
I don’t know what I was expecting her to say. She was sixteen years my junior, after all, and just a coworker. She didn’t need to hear any of this, and I definitely didn't need to be telling her. But who else was there to tell?
She’d already finished her cigarette. I still had a few puffs left. She went inside.
I decided to call it a night.
The second TouchTunes box was gone—naturally. Danny had taken my stool, and regarded my approach with a puckish you snooze you lose grin. I wasn’t going to say anything. I’d just pay my bill, give everyone a nod goodnight, and walk the five blocks back home.
And then Danny disappeared.
One second, he was there. The next—gone.
Danny didn’t just instantaneously vanish. Even when something happens in the blink of an eye, you can still put together something of a sequence. I saw him—I seemed to see him—falling into himself, collapsing to a point, and then to nothing.
You know how sometimes a sound is altogether inaudible unless you’re looking at the source—like when you don’t realize somebody’s whispering at you, and can then hear and understand them after they get your attention? I think that was the case here. I wouldn't have known to listen if I hadn't seen it happen. What I heard lingered for two, maybe three seconds, and wasn't any louder than a fly buzzing inside a lampshade. A tiny and impossibly distant scream, pitchshifted like a receding ambulance siren into a basso drone...
I don’t know. I don’t know for sure. I’m certain I remember a flash of red, and I have the idea of Danny’s trunk expanding, opening up as it imploded. A crimson flower, flecked white, with spooling pink stalks—and Danny’s wide-eyed face above it, drawn twisting and shrinking into its petals.
For an instant, Twenty’s interior shimmered. Not shimmered, exactly—glitched would be a better word. If you’re old enough to remember the fragmented graphics that sometimes flashed onscreen when you turned on the Nintendo without blowing on the cartridge, you’ll have an idea of what I mean. It happened much too fast, and there was too much of it to absorb. The one clear impression I could parse was the mirage of a cash register flickering upside-down above the pool table.
Not a cash register. The shape was familiar, but the texture was wrong. I think it was ribbed, sort of like a maggot. I think it glistened. Like—camo doesn’t work anymore when the wearer stops crouching behind a bush and breaks into a run. Do you get what I’m saying?
Nobody else seemed to notice. The pool balls clacked. A New Order track was playing on the TouchTunes box. A nearby argument about about Nick Sirianni continued unabated.
Finally, there was a downward rush of air—and this at least elicited a reaction from the bartender, who slapped my bill to keep it from sailing off the counter.
“Danny,” I said.
“Danny?” Kyle asked me quietly. His face had gone pale.
“Danny?” Oliver repeated in a faraway voice.
After a pause, Kyle blinked a few times. “You heard from him?”
“God forbid,” said Marina. “When he quit I was like, great, I can keep working here after all.”
“Oh, come on—”
“Kyle. Did I ever show you those texts he sent me once at three in the morning?” The color had returned to Oliver’s face.
“No, what did he say?”
Oliver tapped at his phone and turned the screen toward Kyle.
“Oh. Oh, jeez.”
“Right? Like—if you want to ask me something, ask me. You know? Don’t be weirdly accusatory about it…”
I pulled a wad of fives and ones from my pocket, threw it all onto the counter, and beelined for the exit without consideration for the people I squeezed through and shoved past on the way.
I heard Marina saying “let him go.”
I went a second consecutive night without sleep. Fortunately I wasn’t scheduled to come in the next day.
The schedule. It’s funny. Oliver was generally great at his job, and even when he wasn’t, I cut him a lot of slack because I knew Irene and Jeremy never gave him a moment’s peace. But I could never forgive him those times he waited until the weekend to make up and distribute the schedule. This was one of those weeks he didn’t get around to it until Saturday afternoon. When I found it in my inbox, Danny’s name wasn’t anywhere on it.
As far as I know, nobody who hadn’t been at Twenty that night asked what happened to him. We were a bit overstaffed as it was, and everyone probably assumed Danny was slated for the chopping block. The part-timers were, for the most part, happy to get a few additional hours.
Oliver abruptly quit around Labor Day after a final acrimonious clash with the owners. I never found out the details, and I never saw him again. Jeremy and Irene took turns minding the store while a replacement manager was sought. None of the supervisors would be pressured into taking the job; they knew from Oliver what they could expect.
About three weeks after Oliver left, I came in for my purchasing shift and found Jeremy waiting for me in the back room. I knew it was serious when he didn’t greet me with the awkward fist-bump he ordinarily required of his male employees.
“You’ve seen the numbers,” he said. Business for the summer had fallen short of expectations, it was true, and he and Irene had decided to rein in payroll expenses. My purchaser position was being eliminated. Its responsibilities would be redistributed among the supervisors and the new manager, when one was found. In the meantime, I'd be going back to the regular $11 an hour (plus tips of course) associate position full-time.
Jeremy assured me I'd be first in the running for supervisor the next time there was an opening.
I told him it was fine, I was done, and if he’d expected the courtesy of two weeks’ notice, he shouldn’t have blindsided me like that.
“Well, that’s your choice,” he answered, trying not to look pleased. His payroll problem was solving itself.
I racked up credit card debt for a few months. Applied for entry-level museum jobs that might appreciate my art history degree. Aimed for some purchasing and administrative assistant gigs, and just for the hell of it, turned in a resume for a facilitator position at an after-school art program. Got a few interviews. All of them eventually told me they’d decided to go in a different direction. I finally got hired to bartend at Hops from Underground, a microbrewery on Fairmount.
I’m still there. The money’s okay, but it fluctuates. Hours are reasonable. I’m on their high-deductible health plan. There’s a coworker I’ve been dating. Sort of dating. You know how it goes. In this line of work you get so used to people coming and going that you learn not to get too attached. I walk past Avenue Brew a few times a week, but stopped peering in through the window when I didn't recognize the people behind the counter anymore.

Bought a used car that looked good but wasn’t able to test drive it as I wasn’t insured but dealer said I have warranty so if anything’s wrong you give it back. The dealer offered 12month extended warranty through warranty first which I bought.
Car was delivered, I taxed & insured the vehicle & as soon as I drove it, driving in lower gears didn’t sound right, it was loud & sounded like metal was scrapping across the floor. The sound disappeared in higher gears & when I put the clutch down.
Took car back to dealer & he said it’s not covered in warranty due to wear & tear, & an after sales issue. He said i must of forced the car into the gears & oil has gotten into the gearbox so you need to replace it. I didn’t force anything into gear, maybe this is why I couldn’t test drive it.
He said the car was AA inspected but we can’t give you the report. However when my dad called he forwarded a BCA report. Dodgy.
There’s more, I’m yet to receive my receipt of purchase & any information about the warranty. If I have a problem with the car I have to call the dealer & he’ll sort it. With warranty shouldn’t I be able to choose what garage to take it to?
I know I’m being ripped off & I do feel like I’m being taken advantage of because I’m a woman too. However my dad said to just fix it so I’ve already paid for the repairs, which he said will take days to fix.
I don’t trust the dealer or the mechanic doing the work but too late now. Once fixed I will take it to trusted garage & get them to check it properly.
What would you do in this situation?

Make & Model: Kizer Vanguard Sheepdog
Spots@$Price: 60 @ $1
Total Price: $60
Timestamp: Here
Vid / Pics: Here
Price Justification: Here
Escrow for: u/anonywatch932
Usual rules apply... ​
• PAYMENTS ARE F&F ONLY. DO NOT PUT ANYTHING IN THE NOTES!!!
• IF YOU ARE FORCED TO ENTER A NOTE, USE A GENERIC NOTE LIKE “PIZZA” “LUNCH” “BEERS” NEVER EVER EVER USE “RAFFLE”!!!!
• PLEASE BE CLEAR WITH YOUR SPOT CALLS
• IF YOU REQUEST A SPECIFIC SPOT AND YOUR CALLED SPOT IS ALREADY TAKEN IT WILL BE REPLACED WITH RANDOM UNLESS YOU SPECIFY OTHERWISE
Description: PLEASE BE THOROUGH. EXPLICITLY STATE ALL ISSUES: Great condition 3.2in sheepdog. I might have opened 1 package with this. Otherwise like new.
International shipping: No, CONUS Only

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Tip BlobAndHisBoy
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BM invited DH & I to her SDs high school graduation shindig at their house. We have a good relationship but eh I don’t really want to go but SD said she wants us too (19yr btw). Damn the one time she’s not indifferent about us doing things. Anywho I have been sober for 64 days and BM has been a trigger for me in the past. She honestly has no sense of personal space and it’s petty things that bother me. She is constantly having to touch DH when he’s talking. She hovers. Like hand on his back or shoulder. I know it’s petty, some people are just that way. It’s my own irrational feelings. He gets annoyed with it too (he hates that in general). Should I just make something up or buck up? It’s not like it was SDs party which I would not miss no matter what. I don’t want to be rude but I also would rather not be in a situation that makes me want to grab a beer. DH wouldn’t care either way honestly. Any input is appreciated.
EDIT- just so this is clear. This is not our daughters party. It is BM’s step daughters party.

Introduction

I've been a part of this community for long enough that maybe 3 people recognize the color of my shave towels when I post on /wicked_edge (they're purple). In /wetshaving, I occasionally make dick jokes with mammothben.
As a result, I've spent about an hour ruminating on this post and how to make the Maggard Meetup as awkward as possible. These are my memes and mine alone. I have rejected several cash offers to not post these findings, and I will not be stopped.

Grievance #1: Ending the Base Race

Background

In the before-fore times, the meta for soapmaking that every soapmaker followed was to get a handful of main scents that they keep the same, and release small tweaks to their soap base every 6 months to render the community's collection obsolete and generate a buying spree where people now had to get their favorite scents in the "latest and greatest" soap base.
Many consider this era the golden age of wetshaving, and Barrister and Mann was an active contributor to the base race. White Label/Black Label base, Glissant base, Latha base, Reserve base, Soft Heart base, and Excelsior base all helped encourage wetshavers across the world buy Seville multiple times in the hopes for better slickness, improved cushion (which is totally a thing), and the ultimate post-shave feel.
Then everything changed when the Omniberries attacked.

Omnibus

On September 29, 2021, a nuclear salvo was unleashed from the halls of barristerandmann.com. Leviathan was released in the Omnibus base, and soapmakers around the world waved the white flag on the base race.
Declaration Grooming's Milksteak, Sus Artisan Accoutrement's CK-6, Boob-label & Evans' Kaizen K2. These mainstays of American soap bases have remained stagnant ever since. Omnibus effectively ended the base race across the entire market, and led to the community consensus becoming "chase scents, not bases."

Why This Matters

This alone isn't problematic, having a stable set of great bases to choose from and allowing premiere soapmakers to focus on releasing more interesting scents in smaller batches is good for the community, for the industry, and the world.
The problem arises when old, established brands like Tabac take the end of the base race as a signal from the market that they can cut costs by moving their soaps onto to inferior bases. I'm not saying that it's Will's fault that tallow Tabac is now unobtanium, but you could make the argument that it's Will's fault that tallow Tabac is now unobtanium.

The Solution

The best way the community can address this issue is to write daily letters to Maurer & Wirtz that they need to bring back the tallow base for Tabac, and buy out Maggad Razors' stock of 4.1/4.2 base Saponificio Varesino soaps so they can restock everything in the 4.3 base.

Grievance #2: Financial Abuse

Background

Every few years, the copyright expiration date on Mickey Mouse looms near and Disney lobbies the US government to extend the copyright expiration date so that Disney can maintain their stranglehold on The Mouse, despite their eager use of public domain IP like Sherlock Holmes and King Arthur. Is Will literally Big Soap? I'm not saying he is, I'm just asking questions.

Mousse de Saxe

Will has a whole blog post on how he came about his formulation of Mousse de Saxe, and while it's a very interesting story and his formulation of MdS has become catnip for wetshavers, it's also become something of a crutch in his soapmaking. MdS features in Beadelaire, Full Measure of Man, Lavanille, Le Grand Chypre, and most recently in Vespers.

Why This Matters

Although many of us in the community have no thrill anymore, MdS remains the inimitable constant source of thrill at all of /wetshaving cannot resist. L'appel du mousse is the compelling urge one feels to buy at least a sample (I just need a taste!) of Will's latest release featuring Mousse de Saxe. Will knows this fact about us. He knows it well. My sources tell me Will has bought several jetskis with the money he's earned from abusing this fact about us. And he can't keep getting away with it.

The Solution

Since the turn of the new millennium, sex strikes have proven effective in Colombia, The Phillippines, South Sudan, Togo, and elsewhere. By withholding that which their oppressors desire until behavior is changed, peace can be achieved. So to everyone at the Maggard Meetup, I call upon you to refrain from complimenting Will's scent-making until he releases Mousse de Saxe as a standalone dropper that can be added to soaps and aftershaves a la Declaration Grooming's menthol dropper. Si se puede!

Grievance #3: Olfactory Abuse

Background

It is at this point in the post that I must concede, Will is the superior meme-meister. This absolute madlad is at the gigabrain Dr. Manhattan level of the soapmaking world, except instead of moving to Mars he's decided to dead-ass fuck with us. Seville prints more money than the Nintendo Switch, he's got MdS for whenever he wants the cash to buy another jetski, and Omnibus ensures no other soapmaker will encroach on his soap base superiority. How do I know he's decided to stunt on our noses? Because of 2 scent notes.

Cilantro and Cum

Let's start with Cilantro. When the Four Horsemen series was announced, the wetshaving community was awash with curiosity and speculation about what each of the four horsemen would smell like. Would it be like how Noble Otter tackled the "Firefighter" theme without actually making a soap that smelled like a fire?
No. War would smell like an actual war crime. How does one scent a war crime? Apparently with Cilantro. I have it on good authority that Will devised the scent profile for War when eating tacos for taco tuesday and the topic of how cilantro tastes like soap to some people with a specific gene. "Well what would happen if I added an ingredient that tastes like soap to my actual soap?" and off he went. His friends and family didn't see him for days. The Cleveland Browns found a post-it note that had "Cilantro No Matter What" scribbled on it. And some time later, a scent that could curdle Wholly Kaw's Creme Fraiche base was brought to market. Will knew that we'd buy all 4 scents, get all matchy-matchy, and even dickhole the aftershaves. And then the SOTD's began. "My wife hates this," "my cat peed on the tub when I left it open to dry," "why has god forsaken me?" Guess who was laughing his ass off from Mars? Our very own Dr. Manhattan.
For those of us familiar with Pear Tree blossoms, they have a very particular scent. The kind of scent that makes guys inspect their pant leg and say "I'm fairly certain I didn't miss." The kind of scent that makes women think "Oh gross, honey I told you to change your underwear after last night." That's right, Pear Tree blossoms smell like cum. So when Will was considering what scent to re-release for Spring 2023, did he select fan favorite Paganini's Violin or the fruity fougere Passiflora? (Both of which he relased bath soaps for in February). No, he chose the cum soap. The soap that's supposed to remind you of the time you took a walk through Central Park and rounded a corner only to be accosted by a masturbating homeless man.
I tried to give Will the benefit of the doubt, and asked point blank "Is the pear blossom accord in Rhapsody going to be as, well... pear blossom-y as the original Rhapsody formulation?" to which he responded "Why would I change it?" He knew. He knew what he was doing when he originally released the soap, and he knew why I was asking if he had changed it in the re-release. Dr. Manhattan was laughing on Mars again.

Why This Matters

This matters because Will still hasn't re-released Roam and I need the matching aftershave in my life. There are only so many fresh tubs of Roam out there that j33pguy13 can source for me. Instead, Will chooses to re-release Rhapsody and put together what may go down in history as the most infamous multi-scent meme soap release in history with the Four Horsemen. This is a personal attack on my love for Roam and I will not stand for it.

The Solution

Will, re-release Roam and all is forgiven.

Grievance #4: Feet

Preface

I'm a heterosexual male, but that shouldn't matter when it comes to shaving products or labels. Yes, we drank beer. My friends and I. Boys and girls. Yes, we drank beer. I liked beer. Still like beer. We drank beer.

The Problem

Lavender, Interrupted has been to Will as At the Mountains of Madness has been to Guillermo Del Toro. Everyone wants to see it. Will wants to make it. But the creative ambition of the project makes the promised project almost un-makeable. Lavender, Interrupted had been long promised as an evolution of the lauded Lavanille scent, but faced delays and reformulations, and further delays.
And now, today, many of you will go to the Maggard Meetup anticipating getting a full bottle or sample of the long awaited fragrance. And I can't say I'm not jealous.
I'm really jealous.
But lets wind the clock back to Tuesday March 21, 2023 and remember the Deals/New Products thread from that day.
"Happy Tuesday!
Just wanted to drop in quickly to let you all know that the Q2 2023 Release Schedule is now posted on our blog and that it features a sneak peek at a mockup for Lavender, Interrupted packaging."
Will wanted us to see the packaging. Not a new blog post on how he put the final touches on the fragrance. Not a picture of the bottle it would be sold in. He wanted us to see the picture of sexy feet he put on the box. He postponed Lavender, Interrupted and strung us along just so that his feet pics could get maximum exposure with minimum heat. Are those Will's feet on the box of Lavender, Interrupted? Why does will want us to see pictures of his feet in thigh-high stockings? I'm not saying they are Will's feet on the packaging of Lavender, Interrupted. I'm just asking questions.

The Solution

Nothing really to be done about this other than be mad about discovering new about ourselves. Just accept that we're all going to love this fragrance and that the box with sexy feet on it will be in many wetshavers' dens, delighting Will that his feet pics are going to be all over the sub's mail call threads for years to come.

Conclusion

I'm not sure why you read this far. It's lot to take in, I know. I'm intentionally avoiding a few smaller topics of less import, like... Night Music having poo notes. I'm not going to critique Will/Barrister and Mann beyond that, because it's already been established that he's straight up fucking with us with some of these scents and I am 100% here for it.
I've been wracked with guilt holding onto this knowledge while wetshavers around the world continue to buy Will's wonderful products, but I realized the potential hilarity of pointing out Will's sexy feet pics the morning of the Maggard Meetup was too much to pass up. My intention is just to meme on everyone tangentially related to what I've posted here, and to get Roam a proper re-release. I will not source any of my claims, and I expect you to do your own research. Take my word for it.
After all of this though, I am convinced that Will is an absolute gigachad in the wetshaving world. Please join me in encouraging Will to re-release Roam.
TL;DR Does this sub even have mods anymore? Why is this post still up?

Why does my drinking Bud Light offend you?
May 30, 2023 4:39 pm • Last Updated: May 30, 2023 4:41 pm
By Mike DiMauro
Day Assistant Sports Editor
[[email protected]](mailto:[email protected])
News item: Anthony Bass, a pitcher for the Toronto Blue Jays, shared a video Monday via Instagram endorsing an anti-LGBTQ boycott of brands such as Target and Bud Light.
​
"Here's the reason biblically why I believe Christians have gotta be boycotting Target, Bud Light, and any other corporation that's pushing the things they're pushing,” Bass said. “I think a lot of people make this into a political issue, or they say, 'Oh, what's the big deal?’
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“This is evil, this is demonic, we won't stand for it, we're not going to go to the stores anymore and we're not going to give you our money.”
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It would be impolite to wish that Mr. Bass, who throws a ball for a living, blows out his elbow. Perhaps then he could simply blow it out his tailpipe.
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Because I’ve grown tired of sanctimonious and hypocritical moral outrage over what Target and Bud Light are “pushing,” while it’s permissible that Bass and his ilk get to “push” their beliefs on the rest of us.
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Example: In the last two months or so, I’ve been questioned a half dozen times in public as to why I’m drinking Bud Light. Seems people like Bass have objected to Anheuser Busch’s marketing partnership with transgender influencer Dylan Mulvaney. Their boycott of Bud Light has led to a decrease in sales both locally and nationally. (Local bar and restaurant owners say Bud Light sales are down almost 30 percent.)
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It is their right, of course, to boycott the product. I’m just curious as to why what I’m drinking is their business. I drink Bud Light because I like it. And I’m still drinking Bud Light because I will not marginalize people based on gender, race, religion, ethnicity, or sexual orientation. I’m respectful enough to support someone else’s desire to evolve into another gender. And I’m not stupid enough to believe that my decision to drink Bud Light changes who I am or what I stand for in any possible way.
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But I wonder why it’s so important for people — and the questions to me haven’t all come from men — to announce their disdain for a bottle of beer, tacitly implying their sexuality is “normal.” Remember this one and write it down: If you are truly comfortable with who you are, you needn’t announce anything to anyone.
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And yet to further illustrate how screwed up this country really is, there’s this: Anheuser-Busch hasn’t merely been accused of alienating its traditional customer base with the partnership, but some LGBTQ+ campaigners have also criticized the company for not defending its ties with Mulvaney.
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Amid all the finger-pointing and fear-fanning, the truth hides in the corner, too scared to emerge. The truth is that we are supposed to think critically, weigh evidence from both sides and then make up our own minds. Instead, we’ve become a country hell bent on legislating whatever cause we think is right and just, while burying the other side from all consideration.
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It’s political tribalism. All or nothing. One side or the other. If you’re not in agreement with every morsel of the transgender movement, you are a snarling, hating, infidel. If you’re not in total agreement with Anthony Bass and his beliefs, you’re going to wither in hell.
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But what if — and hold on to your ascots here — two conflicting positions can still be true? Example: What if I support Bud Light’s decision to use a transgender influencer, but also believe that transgender high school athletes belong in their own division?
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I disagree with the Connecticut Interscholastic Athletic Conference’s policy complying with a state law that requires all high school students be treated according to their gender identity. We should consider a sports-centric law that acknowledges sports' unique challenges and accommodates the physical component for success that exists virtually nowhere else in society.
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Sex discrimination in education, health care, housing and financial credit have no place in this country. But we must — must — realize and accept that sports require a physical component to succeed that calls for different guidelines.
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Put it this way: Applying to a school or for health care, housing or financial credit requires no physical component to succeed. Sports require speed, strength and agility and do not fit under the same umbrella. And yet sports are routinely shoved into the same arguments about unfair treatment. Injustices get piled on for rhetorical usefulness, even though they're not applicable.
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The male born composition has inherent physical advantages, rare exceptions noted. But in the aggregate, there are physiologic differences between biological males and females. I don’t believe writing that makes me transphobic. We should respect a person’s pronoun of choice. But that doesn't mean we have to blindly agree with claims that are not supported by science.
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Yet that appears to be the new end game in this country. Blind agreement. Their side or yours. And here I sit, sipping my Bud Light, trying to figure out why so many of us act like the last three letters of Anthony Bass’ last name.
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This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro
​
Comment threads are monitored for 48 hours after publication and then closed.
READER COMMENTS
Philip BroseJune 1, 2023 at 16:30Report
Robin great points the right can’t even keep track on who to be mad at. Why are they so sensitive? I here Chick-fil-a is evil now for they “ensuring equal access,” “valuing differences,” and “creating a culture of belonging,” under the title, “Committed to being Better at Together.” what monsters!
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Philip BroseJune 1, 2023 at 16:27Report
William Peter the guidance councilor?
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Joseph B De La CruzJune 1, 2023 at 15:15Report
This article pretty much sums up exactly how I feel about the situation. Bud Light basically sent someone a can with her image celebrating a milestone. The fact it turned the beer into enemy number one doesn’t surprise me considering the vitriol that has become commonplace in our country. I have had plenty of private messages regarding a video I posted supporting a beer, and more importantly a human being. Most have been vehemently against my support of both and relish the chance to send me a screen shot of Bud Lights stock on a daily basis with a “Go woke, Go broke” ending. I believe much of the vitriol comes from news and talk radio which is why Spotify now fills my vehicle with music instead of talk. I ask everyone to limit their news intake to 30 minutes per day regardless of your party affiliation to center your life. Sometimes my radio will land on a “news station”, and I can feel my blood pressure rise as the most divisive topic of the day is being discussed with a majority of the facts not being considered. I am not recommending folks to ignore what’s happening in our world, but would point out that our country has survived many decades without the need for “up to the second” news reports. Most of the things we worry about will never happen and it seems our country is living in a constant state of fear which is certainly to blame for the vitriol. There will never be a point where everyone in the country will collectively say we are all happy with everything, but I still have a deep believe that with constructive conversations and true empathy we can get us close. When I get my boat in the water I would love to have an ice cold Bud Light while listening to my relaxing boat playlist, and of course talking with my favorite sports writer. That’s an invitation Mike. Great article.
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Robin DaudaJune 1, 2023 at 13:41Report
“Bud Light sales are down between 26% and 35% nationwide additionally Budweiser and other AB brands (Michelob Ultra, Busch Light and Natural Light to name a few) have also taken a hit of around 11%.”
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All the more reason to explain what set this off. Completely unhinged.
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“My take, buy Coors stock now”
And that statement reinforces my point since Coors has been a decades long supporter of LGBT rights probably the biggest supporter (it all began with a workegay alliance boycott ironically… or not)
“Coors Light has been a sponsor of The Center and Denver PrideFest for decades,” says Rex Fuller, CEO of The Center on Colfax. “The work we have been able to do at The Center over the last four decades would not be possible without this support and we are grateful for it.”
Beyond supporting Denver PrideFest, Molson Coors has a distinguished history of supporting LGBTQ communities across the country, with significant support for organizations such as Human Rights Campaign (HRC), Matthew Shepard Foundation, National Amateur Gay Athletics Association of America, National Gay & Lesbian Chamber of Commerce, LGBT Victory Institute, Out & Equal, and One Colorado.
In addition to these partners, Molson Coors works with local LGBTQ organizations in key communities through its Tap Into Change program. Annually, the summer program donates more than $100,000 to these organizations with a consistent growth in impact each year. Events take place in each city to help raise additional funds, awareness, and support for the missions of these local organizations. Over the past 10 years, Tap Into Change has raised nearly $600,000 for local LGBTQ and HIV/AIDS nonprofits.
https://denverpride.org/coors-light-supports-the-lgbtq-community/
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This is even though like 2006, 2010 and 2014 they had to go through boycotts for this. And they did shrink back in response, but also came right back and didn’t move backwards for long.
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And what will I do?
Continue drinking Corona because I drink what I drink.
It’s damn near impossible to do a successful boycott long term. The web of corporate connections means when you think you’re hurting one, it’s actually benefitting another one connected to it.
The beverage brand that owns Budweiser, Corona, and Stella Artois, is suing US beer-maker Constellation Brands for using the Corona brand name in a hard seltzer, according to a lawsuit filed Monday.
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Beverage giant Anheuser-Busch InBev (AB InBev) acquired Corona’s parent company, Grupo Modelo, in 2013, but US antitrust regulators required it to sell the company’s US-based business to Constellation. AB InBev retained rights to the products in other markets, and the deal gave Constellation the rights to produce Corona and other Modelo brands in the US.
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William PeterJune 1, 2023 at 13:36Report
The virtue signalers didn’t like my harmless comment. I guess being offended by an opposing view is reason enough to silence someone in 2023
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Richard GoldenJune 1, 2023 at 12:57Report
Robin- not certain this article nor all the comments will move the needle. Bud Light sales are down between 26% and 35% nationwide additionally Budweiser and other AB brands (Michelob Ultra, Busch Light and Natural Light to name a few) have also taken a hit of around 11%. Bud Light has been the best selling beer in the USA for over 20 years and the normal volume of sales is 27 million barrels a year or 1134 million gallons. A 30% drop equals a loss of 340 million gallons a year. My take, buy Coors stock now
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Chris JawakaJune 1, 2023 at 10:12Report
People are allowed to drink or not drink whatever beer they want and for whatever reason they choose. End of story.
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Robin DaudaJune 1, 2023 at 09:05Report
Do people realize that Bud Light sent a pack of specially made cans with the person’s face on it and did a minute long or so bit released on like TicTok? It wasn’t some big nationwide PR campaign yet it rubbed someone the wrong way (or so they would like us to think) and it snowballed into this.
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I don’t ever want to hear about people calling “the libs” snowflakes or use their center liberal stances as a weakness. These champions of “conservatives” are gullible whiny babies.
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I watched in real time a bunch of idiots blow something up out of nothing and then saw them flocking to the internet people with their influencer pages and podcasts and publications where immediately they were being hawked “anti-woke” beer and all these other wares, often made by the same places they are boycotting for double the price.
There is a whole market opening up to people that will only get their businesses off the ground (temporarily for a quick cash grab) by using these outrage tactics and capitalizing (literally) on impaired brains that as Mr. DiMauro correctly observed “Blind agreement. Their side or yours”
Bless your little void of empathy and common sense hearts. Don’t spend all your money in one place now, spread the wealth to these people selling you overpriced junk.
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Paul LevasseurJune 1, 2023 at 07:47Report
Mike is discussing one of this election cycles right wing culture war hot spots.
If you can’t get elected because of your governing skills you’re going to have to try to get elected by getting people angry and hateful. The right wing loves doing that. It’s their bread and butter.
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TOM DONNEEJune 1, 2023 at 06:46Report
Preaching hate and preaching tolerance ARE NOT the same Evan
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DANIEL STORMSJune 1, 2023 at 05:56Report
I always liked this formulation: “In the first place, what makes it any of you business? And in the second place, my reasons for saying yea to [whatever it is that offends you] are at least as valid (and maybe more so) than yours for nay. And in the third place, what makes it any of your sodding business in the first place?” I agree wholeheartedly with your plea for reason and tolerance. Not to seem argumentative but rather to add information to the discussion, though, you might be interested in this blog post from a biologist about the supposed physiologic advantages a trans man or woman has over a cis athelete: https://freethoughtblogs.com/pharyngula/2023/05/31/we-hunted-the-rabbit/
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Evan AndriopolousJune 1, 2023 at 03:10Report
For me… Bud Light as a “beer” sucks. I would rather support local breweries that provide far better beers. As far as this column… as far as AB selecting this influencer in their campaign I have no opinion on it or that person. Up to each to decide for themselves.
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Regarding this column actually Mike what you are writing is basically the same as the boycott and the changes in attitudes (political divide) of the country. Often used by politicians on BOTH sides of the aisle screaming to be open, defending one´s right to choose, freedom of speech etc.. and this is the most important part..”unless it does not validate their opinion or view”. This is exactly what you are writing. So if someone elects to boycott something and we know the WOKE police and Leftists enjoy not only condemning opposing viewpoints to the point of boycotting, attacking employers for the “views” of their employees etc… and demanding they be removed from the position their are in. So if someone boycotts something let them… I would ask you… why does it offend you that others are using their constitutional right by boycotting (freedom of speech). I always respect other´s opinions and even when we do not agree. Sadly we live in a world where people are afraid to speak up due to the potential ramifications. None of us will always agree and I know the powers to be are trying to “force” us to all be uniform in our opinions which is sad. And btw Bud Light is terrible anyway… How about you focus on sports.
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Benoit BenoitMay 31, 2023 at 20:12Report
Ironic you drink because you like it but will continue to drink it because “ I will not marginalize people based on gender, race, religion, ethnicity, or sexual orientation.” Not just because you like it.
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William PeterMay 31, 2023 at 17:46Report
This comment has been removed for violating The Day’s commenting policy.
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JAY DEMPSEYMay 31, 2023 at 16:53Report
TY Mike….. I drink Bud Light most all the time unless in Ireland…and support Levine Distributors in our area and my friends that work there. I think the cancel culture is terrible whatever your political party of choice is. Very sad that social media has done this to us. I have good friends that I can no longer talk politics with because of the “great divide” that enriches social media giants.
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ROBERT WARNERMay 31, 2023 at 16:45Report
I suppose a similar question could be asked, “Why does a person wearing a MAGA hat bother some people?”
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David NowakowskiMay 31, 2023 at 14:30Report
great column, Mike. I’d like to think there are far more folks who see this subject and all its nuances the way you do…but you are probably right again in saying that it is tough to go against your chosen tribe on any component, regardless of how you might actually feel. thanks again!
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Andrew RogersonMay 31, 2023 at 13:33Report
Mike DiMauro – well said sir, on all counts.
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Lynn YoungMay 31, 2023 at 13:28Report
Drink what you like. Be who you are. Live and let live.
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Richard GoldenMay 31, 2023 at 12:36Report
Light Beer is like Sex on the Beach….****ing near water.
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Paul NUNESMay 31, 2023 at 11:44Report
Does anyone remember the first light beer and the commercial featuring a slice of bread?
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THOMAS MORIARTYMay 31, 2023 at 11:05Report
Richard, must have been some other brand light. Bud Light? It was probably 10 years ago. But he could have been messing with me.
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Richard GoldenMay 31, 2023 at 10:17Report
Malcolm- The moral of the story is; if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
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Richard GoldenMay 31, 2023 at 10:16Report
Thomas- as far as I knew and as far as I can tell Guinness is the most popular beer in Ireland holding a full 25% of the market share. Bud Light does not even show up in the top ten (https://www.beer100.com/best-selling-beers-ireland/) I think the guy was pulling your leg. Bud Light only became available in Ireland in 2020.
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Malcolm JulesMay 31, 2023 at 09:32Report
A corporation decided to target one of their products to a specific community and failed….end of story.
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Margaret KliseMay 31, 2023 at 09:12Report
Agree/agree. Good article, Mike.
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SUSAN HOTCHKISSMay 31, 2023 at 09:06Report
I always enjoy Mike’s opinion pieces. In total agreement about the transgender athlete issue.
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THOMAS MORIARTYMay 31, 2023 at 09:00Report
Tom, hope all is well with your daughter.
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THOMAS MORIARTYMay 31, 2023 at 08:57Report
A Bud Light story: Several years ago while in Ireland my son and I toured the Guinness brewery. Of course there’s a pub on the top floor and while getting a pint of Guinness the bar I notice several taps Bud Light. I asked the bartender “why in God’s name are you serving THAT stuff in here?” He replied that it’s the best selling beer in Ireland. Go figue!
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THOMAS MORIARTYMay 31, 2023 at 08:51Report
Good column Mike. These anti “woke” zealots claim to support democracy but would be no different from the Taliban if they had their way.
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Richard GoldenMay 31, 2023 at 08:42Report
All this talk of beer makes me thirsty…but I have found that drinking beer has become an unwelcome undertaking. No beer allowed at the beach, nor while night fishing in Waterford, nor surf fishing at Avery Point, nor at any state boat launch, nor is state parks- try walking down the street with a cold one….
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Chris JawakaMay 31, 2023 at 08:08Report
IMO The left loves their cancel culture but gets all grumpy when the right does the same. Hey it can go both ways. That said I really don’t care about the Bud thing. Its not like they sold beer with its face on it.
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Matther TookerMay 31, 2023 at 07:35Report
Thoughtful piece as always Mike. Perhaps the best offset for the 30% decrease in Bud Light sales would be a 30% increase in church attendance. I am betting that won’t happen. (Matt Tooker)
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KEITH J. ROBBINSMay 31, 2023 at 06:11Report
You drinking Bud-Lite does not offend me, although it is a horrible beer. What is my concern is a guy using the ladies room that my nieces use!
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TOM DONNEEMay 31, 2023 at 05:55Report
Agree Phil. Well done Mike!! Waiting for my daughter to come out of surgery. Then we’ll stop for a cold one, think I’ll make it a Bud Lite!!!
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Philip BroseMay 30, 2023 at 16:59Report
Mr. DiMauro is always thoughtful and intelligent. The best writer at the day. Give the guy a raise.

I drink for no reason now and I can’t have one or two beers. I don’t drink liquor but beer is my vice. I really need to stop because my stomach is messed up now, everything I eat goes straight through me. My mom isn’t happy either and nor am I anymore. I have been doing better tho but i just need to stop for a long time. I used to casually drink & left it as that. My dads side of the family has substance addictions & I found out my cousins has been falling down the alcohol addiction hole really bad….😮‍💨I’ll try my best this weekend to not drink…it’s a new day to make better choices! Wish me luck

Hey everyone, throwaway here. This is a long one - there’s a tldr at the bottom.
When I was a child, my father inherited a property (small 3 bed) in Dublin from his brother. For the past 20 years, there has been a tenant in the property - one woman & her son who is now 20. I sadly lost my father 3 years ago after a short and painful illness. It’s been a very traumatic time, not least due to the fact that we also lost our mother to cancer when we were kids. I have siblings and between us we shared in nursing our father and caring for him during his illness. During this time, my father explained to me that he would be leaving the property in Dublin to me to do with whatever I feel fit. He died, and I inherited the property.
Fast forward to January this year. I decided that next year I would like to move into the property with my partner, renovate it, and settle down. We’re both 30 and renting, and with the housing crisis coupled with the cost of living hikes making life planning a difficult reality for any young couple living in Ireland, this opportunity is obviously a saving grace for us. So I respectfully and delicately approached the tenant and sat down with her to explain that I would be issuing her an eviction notice, that I would give her a year to vacate her home, and that I would support her in any way I can helping her find somewhere new to live. She was sad, but said that she understood and that my father had already prepared her for this eventuality. She submitted the eviction notice to the RTB and to HAP, and she is to move out next January.
The tenant is on the HAP scheme and she is waiting to be housed by Dublin City Council. She’s been on the waiting list for 14 years and since receiving her eviction notice she has been placed on a priority list. She has not looked after the property well, her son causes a lot of damage to the doors and walls and they don’t maintain the garden - letting it grow over with weeds and thorn bushes despite me having it properly landscaped and providing a lawnmower. I have checked in with her a couple of times since issuing the notice to see where she is at with her housing application and whether she has had any updates from the council on her position as a priority candidate to be housed. Both times she responded that she has had no updates but that she will be happy to move to any property that I move her to. I of course do not have any other properties. Until now, I have been renting my whole life. She seems to think that I am going to house her, despite me clarifying more than once that I am not in a position to do so. So it’s been a frustrating relationship for me to maintain, but I am patient and understand that her circumstances are not ideal.
Last week, the tenant texted to enquire about sourcing her a bed to put into the converted garage that is being used as private storage (the property is on a shared lease because dad had another tenant at one point). 5 more members of her family are moving to Ireland and she wants to accommodate them for the rest of her time at the property. I responded, declining the request, explaining to her that there is an eviction notice in place and I want to ensure that it’s followed through without any difficulty. I explained that 5 extra people in the house would render it overcrowded and therefore uninsured, and that her rent doesn’t cover this amount of people, so her HAP payments may be effected. This is where the trouble begins.
She has since become much more difficult and unpleasant to deal with. She has been rude about my parents, telling me that she wishes they were still around, as if to compare me to them. She got her son to call me to try convince me to fold, that it’s family and I should want to help family. He began insulting me over the phone, telling me I’m useless, that I’m being stubborn and selfish. I remain calm, citing the lease, the insurance and the eviction notice as my reasons for being unable to help her. She continues to harass me, won’t take no for an answer. She wrote a very long message yesterday “begging” me not to ruin her final memories in the home and imploring me to allow her to accommodate her 5 family members as they have nowhere else to go in Ireland and that they need a base as they wait to be homed. She says that she and her whole family will move out in January, that I don’t have to worry about that and that I should find it in my heart to allow her some happy final memories with her family in her home. But I’m worried that if she’s struggling to be housed while it’s just herself and her son, then it will be even more difficult to be housed as a group of 7. I think she shouldn’t move her family to Ireland at this time and that it’s irresponsible of her to put them in this position (I haven’t said that to her, I don’t think it’s my place to).
I am not an experienced landlord, nor had I ever intended on becoming a landlord. This whole situation has been extremely stressful for me as we wait patiently to start our life together in this house. I’ve heard some pretty bad stories about the struggles other landlords have endured in trying to successfully evict tenants, understandably. The RTB have been supportive and helpful in advising me how to handle this but this is new territory for me and it’s really tearing me apart to think that I might put this family at risk of homelessness. But I can’t risk not having a home to move into myself next year.
I’m not sharing this story to incite hate or prompt angry discussion against any demographic subgroups. I understand that as a country we benefit in many ways from having a diverse population and I don’t want to undermine that hard fact. I also understand that I am fortunate in many ways to have inherited a property during a housing crisis. I am interested to hear what people think about this, whether I am doing an okay job at handling it, whether I am perhaps being overly privileged in taking advantage of my position as landlord, whether I am taking enough action to prevent this potentially becoming more complicated. So, AITA?
TLDR: I inherited a house from my Dad 3 years ago. There is a long term tenant in the house with her son. I’ve issued an eviction notice of 12 months. She now wants to move 5 family members into the house as they have nowhere else to go. I’ve said no, she won’t take no for an answer.

1. famous fewa: - 100/10!! sobrang alat naman nyan?? tapos ang mahal pa 70 pesos na e dati nasa 40 lang yon. ang alat from egg to cheese tas yung hotdog lasang peke huhu sana nag-angel's na lang ako!
   
2. shawarma: -dami ng absence ng prof namin/10 alam ba nilang ang shawarma hindi dapat mataba ang laman? kasi kadiri !!! as someone na shawarma enthusiast, tapos ganon makakain mo sobrang nakakasuka. ok naman sana kung mura siya, e nasa 70 pesos siya so sana naman worth it.
   
3. sisig: 8/10 pwede na 60 pesos tapos mabubusog ka pa. oks na rin.
   
4. choco butternut: 9/10 oki siya! most bearable food na alam mong worth it pera mo!! kaso lagi kong di naabutan yung butternut???? also, masarap ba yung milky donut nila with fillings?
   
5. university fave burger something something: 7.5/10 medyo maalat. medyo kulang. pero oki na rin kasi busog ka na diba rreklamo pa ba????
   

pero for me, mas sulit pa mag-mix & match tapos libre pa refill ng water, e sa pup wala nang water refilling machine so pag 1L need mo magpay ng 25, imagine 25 + 65 e sa jollibee sure ka na sa lasa & may free water pa & malamig din. anw!! comment din mga food ratings niyo within pup pls !!