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On the Shelf: |
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This Week's Special:
Caroline
hates men but we can work with that because we are pro-market. One of many things
she hates about men is their indecision when asked what they want for dinner. Children
are also inclined to answer 'I don't know' but at least you can starve them. Caroline channels this rage,
collected from the sisterhood and beyond, into her latest metalwork
It
is a combination safe, 30 by 30 cm and 45 deep, with tumbler lock. The only
means of opening it known to man is
placing ear to it and turning knob. There is no set combination - the clicks of
lifted pins are merely echoes of the listener's soul or, rather, stomach.
Locating the correct three numbers and opening safe reveals the dinner, cooked,
that safe cracker does not realize they crave.
The
Safe of What You Want For Dinner was intended for women exasperated with their
partner's culinary indecision. The unintended market is wider. Anyone who
appreciates a gourmet dinner for one can learn to crack safe. This product is
educational tool for modern Fagin with a cat-burglar protégé or dozen.
That
market is Cheese.
It is Cheese's day off so
they are defusing a bomb. It is a low-level contract, more a bundle of
fireworks connected to burner phone, but those five-star ratings matter. A Bomb Begone
gig-worker can receive a 3.5 rating by detonating ordnance and copping most of
the blast. The job is done, after all. With a smile and customer-facing
demeanour, Cheese receives a five-star rating and a bag of Man Cement.
Man Cement is packaged in
twenty kilo pre-mix bags. The perfect slump, or consistency, can be created
with any reasonable amount of water, accommodating wide margin of error. In
order to become cement at all, however, a squirt of fresh jizz must be mixed
in.
Cheese is not sure who wants
this Man Cement but is sure they ain't them. The market is not the professional
landscaper who already has cement and can buy more, with money. The market is
the DIY hobbyist, a touch inexperienced, who wants comeuppance for any fucker
who pinches their tools. Bonus points for misogyny.
That
market is Malcolm.
In
his lonelier moments, Malcolm
suspects he is not good at racism. When he heard what, he thought, was First
Australians speaking in their First Australian tongue, he turned to look
racistly. He looked racistly at a couple of Italian Nonnas in a Nonna Argument.
In his lonelier moments, Malcolm reminds himself that racism is unconscious,
that he is doing it at all times.
As
the resident straight-white-cis-male, Malcolm has clout which he likes to swing
between legs. Hierarchy is pure bulging abs and it is important that the useful
people are always stretching. A report on global warming's effect on
Australia's surfing regions landed on Malcolm's desk by Monday, as he ordered.
Malcolm, straight-white-cis-male, does not believe in humanity's impact on the
climate. His dick goes down.
Malcolm
sips Japanese whiskey, which is not weeb but highbrow because alcohol, whilst
scanning report. The words do not
congeal into sentences because hangover. It is an only copy, so Malcolm opts to
sell it. The market is someone looking to buy beach house with long-term
appreciation.
That
market is Caroline.
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