Of the advertisers in yesterday’s Washington Post expressing gratitude to our nation’s veterans for their sacrifices, the weapons manufacturers were the most effusive.

And I’ve grown expert at stealing the Post’s content. I get the ol’ five finger discount. Certainly my audience at the Post are familiar with that, as they shoplift my material every day.

I like reading the print edition on my Kindle. The pages are accurate reproductions of what you would see if you were a subscriber to their paper, which I am not, as I’ve already informed you that I routinely steal their material. So I suppose that the Post, despite their best efforts, can never fully duplicate for their online readers the experience enjoyed by their print subscribers. The electronic version shall forever remain a mere simulacrum of the real thing.

It’s kind of like how those 3-D movies can never fully duplicate for the audience the experience of seeing something in 3-D. You want to see something in 3-D? Open your eyes and walk down the street. It’s fascinating, isn’t it? Unless you only have one eye, of course –in which case my heart goes out to you. All the 3-D glasses in the world won’t help you if you’ve only got one eye. There should be a legal disclaimer printed on the movie ticket for the benefit of the litigious among us: “Our product will not make those with one eye see in 3-D.” I’m surprised there hasn’t been a class action lawsuit by now.

I’m sorry. I got off track. I was complimenting the Washington Post on a fine, free product. I have the Post’s Android app that downloads all the day’s material whenever I connect to WiFi. I don’t even have to do anything. It just does it automatically for my effortless thievery at my convenience later that evening.

Yes, I suppose that the app checks to see if you’re a subscriber by checking with some server somewhere. You can only read ten articles per month if you’re not a subscriber –not nearly enough to satisfy my rapacious appetite for stolen material.

So the way to trick the app is simply to be offline when you go to read the articles. If the app cannot verify that a subscription exists, it will strive not to dissatisfy the reader and it will assume that all is well, that everything’s on the up and up, that no one’s performing a smash-and-grab, which I routinely do when it comes to stealing from the Washington Post as they routinely steal from me.

So as partial compensation for my Post audience members’ innocent oversight in failing to EVER buy your tickets despite my constant hectoring, I suggest that you communicate to your parent Borg collective, Amazon Dot Com, that mechanized phalanx that roams the galaxy, consuming all in its path, “Resistance is futile. We need to compensate your authors two cents less per copy;” I suggest that you have Amazon magically give me a subscription. And I want a year’s Prime membership, too. And I don’t care that, strictly speaking, your relationship is with Commander Bezos and not Amazon itself. I’m sure he can figure out where to forward the memo. And I want those penis enlargement pills on my Wish List. And the three-pak of socks. We’ll call it square.

If Bezos is unwilling to compensate me, we can do an end-run. Contact the Secret Service in Burlington. Tell them to slightly modify the custom Android package on my Kindle that I had earlier suggested they write, the package that provides for the uploading to some server somewhere of my unpublished WordPress documents and my naked selfies that I send to myself because I don’t know anyone who would regard receiving naked selfies from me as anything other than profoundly creepy.

It’s a tricky proposition, really, if you think about it. Let us say that you want to trade naked selfies with someone. How would you know who wants to do that? Trial and error? And where would you start? Your neighbors? The pretty girl at the Post Office? Maybe she secretly desires to see my penis but is just too shy to ask. Should I meet her half way? If people have crippling social anxieties that would prevent them from soliciting photos of my erect penis that they would otherwise enjoy receiving, should I take the first step in bridging that gulf?

It’s a fascinating moral conundrum, but one ultimately inconsequential to the matter before us, which is by what precise method shall the Washington Post compensate me? So just tell the Secret Service to slightly modify that Android package such that it also tricks the Washington Post app into thinking that I am a duly subscribed online reader. And if anyone at the Post wants to send me their naked selfies, just give them to the Secret Service for transfer to my Kindle. It can all be part of the same automated process. It’ll help us all get closer, don’t you think? We’ll just dispense with that final layer of artifice between performer and audience and we’ll show each other our privates.

I should do a nude video someday, me strolling around, addressing my audience, seemingly completely unaware that I neglected to dress that morning. Maybe turn it into a man-on-the-street routine. Vermont has no public nudity laws.



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