The Bitter Press

This is a paid advertorial. It has been paid for. By whom is a matter of ongoing internal review, but the money exists, it is accounted for, and the account in question is in a jurisdiction that respects privacy the way a reasonable person respects a dangerous berry on an unmarked plant. Which is to say: carefully, and from a distance.

There have been suggestions — sourced, as all slanders are, from the citrus cabal over at factjuice.com — that certain funds collected through the classifieds have not been formally reconciled. Tangelo made this claim. Lemon repeated it. Plum illustrated it, which is frankly the worst one. I want to be clear: the money moved. Where it moved to is a logistical question, not a moral one, and I resent the framing.

I am also not, at this time, acknowledging that Quince and Pomelo raised similar concerns internally, or that Durian refused to be in the same room as my most recent ledger, or that Crab Apple described the accounts receivable column as, and I am quoting loosely, "a cry for help in numeric form." These are private editorial matters. They do not belong in a public advertorial. That they are in this advertorial is a formatting issue I am addressing separately.

What I will say — and this is the advertorial portion — is that the classifieds remain open, the rates are fixed, and cash is the only accepted tender because cash does not have a paper trail the way that some fruits at some rival rags apparently believe they are entitled to examine. You want to run an ad, you bring the money, you do not ask questions, and we do not discuss what the ad is for. This is called professional discretion. It is very standard. I checked.

This advertorial was not a confession. This advertorial has never been a confession. Rates available upon request. Do not touch me.