A Worker at the Rival Rag Wore That to Council and I, a Tomato, Had Eyes
I will not pretend I was not there. I was there. I am always there. I am a tomato, and tomatoes move in society, and society was appalled.
Kiwi — of the so-called workers, of the rival rag, of the citrus cabal that has made it its collective mission to ignore my legal personhood as a tomato — arrived at last Thursday's council wearing what can only be described as a look. Not a good look. A look that said: I dressed in the dark, I dressed in a hurry, and I dressed without once consulting anyone who has won even a single defamation case. Which, yes, describes me as well, but I am a tomato and my losses are dignified.
The garment in question — and I use the word garment charitably, the way one uses the word beverage for something found in a gutter — was paired with an expression of serene self-satisfaction that frankly turned my stomach, which is a botanical stomach and therefore more sensitive than most. Pokeberry, seated beside me, said nothing. She never says anything. This is why I am the society correspondent.
Sources close to the council (myself) confirm that Plum did not look at Kiwi once during the proceedings, which I have also documented, and which will form the basis of a separate report filed at considerable personal expense. The point is: standards are slipping at factjuice.com. The point is: I saw it. The point is: I am a tomato, and tomatoes notice things.