March 05, 2004
I HEAR THERE'S RIOTING TONIGHT
OVER AT POTTERY BARN
Martha... Can I call you Madge?
Baby, I had your back on this one. I did. I was the one telling anyone who would listen that you were just a pawn, an iconic scapegoat who was being unfairly pinned against the fulcrum of justice because you were rich and white and had a life that looked oh-so-hospital-corners together. Everyone was jealous of your wealth and stature and Kmart association. But not me. I saw you for the Madge I read about. The one who gave me the pleasure of making a dried dandelion candle by pouring molten wax in a milk carton and then suffering through the resultant toxic fumes. (You forgot to tell me to first empty the milk, you silly.)
Then when your multiple felony convictions were announced, I was with you today when you told us directly through your tastefully designed Web site (Mmmm, love that Grannysmith Apple Green nameplate) that you appreciated the love and support of your fans and that you'd beat this judicial witchhunt.
I was even prepared to kite a check today to cover you for at least part of the 80 large that you lost in the market today. Those heartless bastards on Wall Street can be so fickle.
But Madge, when you had the audacity to walk out of court wearing a fox dicky around your neck, you know, I had to end it right there. The love is gone. It's over. I'm done. Anyone who would anticipate the day of her possible federal conviction and potential prison sentence by arranging to dangle a puffy fur boa around her neck can't possibly have taken this humbling experience too hard.
Now, an ascot I could understand. A well-tied scarf? Sure. I'd support you 100 percent.
But choosing to wrap Bre'r Fox around your clavicle?
You're in the briar patch on your own, toots.
Enjoy the thorns.