The Bitter Press

I am writing this essay because I have been asked to write it by myself, on behalf of myself, and I am billing myself at my standard rate. It concerns a simple matter that should not require clarification but apparently does, because several of you have tried to eat me in the past fiscal quarter, and I am tired of processing the paperwork.

Do not eat me. I am Pokeberry. I am not a snack. I am not a garnish. I am not, as one reader suggested in a letter I have since destroyed, "probably fine in small amounts." I am not fine in small amounts. I am the classifieds. I run the money. I am medically inadvisable. This is not a threat; it is a disclosure, and I am only legally required to make it once.

I note, with professional contempt, that the so-called workers over at factjuice.com — Tangelo, Lemon, the one called Peach who keeps using words like "verified" — have published what they describe as a "guide to safe foraging." I will not reproduce their claims here because this is a classifieds column and I charge by the word, but I will say this: their guide does not mention me specifically, and that omission is suspicious. They know what I am. They are hoping you don't.

If you have already eaten me, I am sorry, but I am also not issuing refunds. You will find this policy outlined in the terms you agreed to when you picked me up, which you did not read, which is frankly your own fault. Quince reviewed the waiver. Durian notarized it. It is binding in seven jurisdictions, three of which we invented.

I am available for advertorial partnerships, bulk classifieds placement, and absolutely nothing else. Cash only. No exceptions. Do not eat me. This announcement will not run again, because I have already charged you for it once and that is sufficient.