Wet Market

Breaking News!

Costco opens first in-store Wet Market in Seattle.

With plans to open several more of the newly named “Wuhanland” wet markets in Hollywood, Ann Arbor MI, Madison WI and Traverse City, MI.

“We just threw Traverse City in there as a joke.” Said Brent Mc******, VP of Expansion told us. “They won’t know what they’re eating anyway. The more sophisticated palate that we cater to at most stores will be eager to try the globally sensitive servings of Chiropteran sushi and kabobs.”

“Is the current martial law-like environment hampering operations?” We axed him.

“Quite the contrary! It has only intensified interest. We have very attractive take-away services. And if you have a prescription from your provider, there is no federal tax.”

We were unable to find any reviews on Yelp, either positive or negative but the Hu Ding Dong Rating service of the Peoples Republic gave the Wuhanland venture over seven hundred million “5 Chopstick” reviews.

©saynothingnews, 2020

OK, sis. I’m sending you this memo that somebody posted on the bulletin board at work. Real funny. It doesn’t sound real, but these days you never know. Do you and Carl still go to Costco? I know they sell hot dogs and stuff and in the back of the store; they have like a meat market and bakery counter, so maybe it is real. I don’t know what “is” is anymore. But I don’t think a real reporter would say ‘axed’. Do you? Nope, I sure don’t.

Mace

Monday Monday. Can’t trust that day. Remember that one, Carl?

Fuckin’ Carl. My man.

Dude, did you ever see Ike go off when you worked with him? I think this Wuhanarona stuff is getting the best of him. He went down to Lansing (“I was about the only Black motherfucker there.” He said. “10,000 people and they was like three four of my people there.”) the other day after work to drive around and fuck up traffic to get da gubner to let people go back to work. He didn’t get back until about midnight. I had to clock in for him. And then he was showing his ass the whole rest of the shift.

I found this letter in my mail slot. Actually, he pointed it out to me, said he wrote it ‘cause he was sick of people saying “we’re all in this together”. Check this out. From Ike:

“Here’s a news flash for all you all: NO, WE AIN’T ALL IN THIS TOGETHER! We all in the same shitstorm, but some folks have a better storm cellar. Some folks still have they jobs. Some people still have to go out do theirs, and some people can sit on they ass at home and write stories or be on TV or talk on the radio and when the eagle flies on Friday they good. Some people have to sit at home and watch while they 401K goes 101K. Some people sit at home and spend all day on the telephone calling the banksters begging for a payroll loan that might – or might not –  keep they painting business, florist shop, tree trimming business, Barbecue, hairdresser, pet shop or whatever else they built for the last 20 years go down the shit hole. Some folks have reporters from NPR come over and look at they $20K freezer’s full of 20 dollar a pint ice cream they laid in for the lock-down. No, there’s lots of different cellars for folks.

And seems like there is some kind of social hair-ro-ine for the masses going on where old white rock stars do these home video concerts. For the W.H.O. Not Pete Townshend and them motherfuckers. The World Health Organization. Dig, I came across one of them while I was looking around for some free shit on the innernet. Here’s four ancient ol’ white motherfuckers putting on a ‘concert’. The Stones.

And then the shit under the video. For real? Check it out, I copied it down, to prove I didn’t make this shit up:  The Stones were a last-minute addition to Saturday’s already star-studded lineup, and their rootsy, in-the-pocket performance of “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” — with Mick Jagger (sounding in fantastic form), Keith Richards, Ronnie Wood, and Watts appearing in four Brady Bunch-style split-screen squares — was one of the most anticipated and well-received moments of the broadcast. But it didn’t take long for fans to notice that Watts wasn’t actually drumming live.”

Rootsy?!?!?!  You Kunta Kinte motherfucker. Leave that shit alone, right? Unless you more black than that old white bitch ran for president was fuckin’ Cherokee. Ain’t that a trip?

Every other word is boo-shit. “In-the-pocket”?  Shee-it.  It wasn’t even in the pants. It was about the least “in the pocket” thing I ever heard anybody play anything. Fucking horrible. They wasn’t nothin’ … I mean the whole idea of it.  But all in the name of the brotherhood of man, feel me?

Fuckin’ a, people. It’s just a bunch of nearly dead bo-toxed ancient motherfuckers who’ve had their blood changed out to kick hereoin and they wattle surgically removed, playing to a bunch of motherfuckers who would clap on anything that they do. In fact. Fuck. I just don’t know. I just know we fucked. Feel me? We fucked when this is what passes for the blues, when this is what we get, junkin’ up the spirits of peoples whose God-given liberties and being fucked over by governors and mayors who don’t even know what the Bill of Rights is.”

Whoa.

Preach it. I felt like I just went to church. I looked up at Ike when I was done reading this.

“So why do you care?” I asked him.

Ike looked at me. “Who said I did?”

Gotta like Ike.

Yer BIL, Mason

Next Letter: FC

Author: hsderkin

H. Scott Derkin lives with his wife and a scruffy miniature poodle mix on the banks of a river in NW Michigan. By not taking into account his shortcomings, his wife has managed to stay with him for over half a century.