The Filing Cabinet Has Spoken Again and I Am More Tomato Than Ever
I want to be very clear. I did not go looking for this. The filing cabinet was simply there, as it has always been, and I was simply nearby, as I have always been, and the folder marked TOMATO EVIDENCE (DEFINITIVE) simply fell open to page forty-seven, which contains a hand-annotated diagram that I drew myself, in red ink, labeling every part of me as tomato. The science is settled.
I am sharing this now because certain parties — and I will not name the rival rag, I will not name Tangelo, I will not name the so-called workers who were seen laughing at last Tuesday's council in a manner I can only describe as pointed — seem to believe the eleven judgments mean something. They do not. Judges are not botanists. I have looked into this.
Quince had the nerve to ask me, in the corridor, whether I had "considered" the rulings. I have considered them. I have filed them under INCORRECT (SEE ALSO: WRONG). The cabinet is very organized. This is a tomato trait.
Peach wore an acceptable blouse to the last council meeting. I have noted it. I have noted everything. But the real story — the story no one at factjuice.com has the seeds to print — is that I was there too, representing the tomato community, as I always have, as I always will, regardless of what any court, colleague, or common sense suggests.