Egg-seller: "Stuff this good sells itself." Or, "My kingdom for a baloney sandwich."

Ron Graf came down to the office a few days back with a briefcase full of stuff, ad mock-ups and so forth.  A lot of like, Q-Anon propaganda, and so forth, and such.  I told him, I said, "Ron, that's what the R&D budget is for".  We weren't enforcing any kind of nationalism or protectionism or isolationism.  Indeed, we were barely even guilty of enforcing capitalism.

We had got caught in a pattern of odd behaviors, coming to the office and just sort of hanging there, sort of face to the glass and all, even holding drag races during office hours, with Hondas and Subarus and stuff trying to shred tires in the company lot.

But we must imagine ourselves happy, rather than so indefagibly empty by the whole experience.  Why, someone like Q speaks to that emptiness and tries to make it eat one alive, make one just desperate enough to do the wrong thing when Q beckons us on.

I didn't refer Ron to HR, but instead just of sort of had a talk with corporate mission, said we were kind of losing our identity.  All we did was sell eggs.  We didn't feed into these weird political things.  Just eggs.

He started on about Faisbook and some of that stuff, and CripCrop and all, and I said, "no.  We're about eggs.  Good eggs.  Normal old eggs."

He said, "what about Donald?"

I said, "Does Donald want to buy some eggs?"

And that was the end of us talking about Trump.  We were egg-sellers, and if he didn't want eggs, then what did we have to talk about?

You just kind of have to imagine us happy.

That's what you have to do.

He's an endless self-promoter, known not to play well with others.  We sell eggs.  Sounds like a case of "nary the twain".

We were just not gonna make it complicated.  The Paleo people could call it Paleo. The Keto people could call it Keto.  But we weren't spending ad budget to give it that kind of market segmentation.  It was like, a staple.  A rice or paper towels of daily life.

"Stuff this good sells itself."

You have to imagine the egg happy.  If it had a soul.  And imagine young Cheever happy with a nice egg on his plate.

What I had done was put something on social media, of course, Ron Graf swears its about the US President because there were some remarks by him near the same time, so Ron micro-manages his way into the Q Anon world, and suddenly, the Product Line Coordinator is a Q Anon Shaman, speaking at various rallies around the country, all but ready to quit the company and be a public speaker, like Kim Gilroy did.

I simply posted whole wheat toast, mustard, fried bologna, fried egg, and then another piece of whole wheat toast.  It seemed there was some regionalism at play as to what condiment goes with the egg, some even doing ketchup or salsa, some vinegar or other things.  Salt and pepper was pretty common though.

And I didn't need anyone on right wing radio to tell me that a baloney and egg sammie was a pretty good thing.

I imagine the egg neither happy nor sad, a life suspended in a kind of lack of energy, the 45 degree chill of the cooler, a dream frozen on a single frame, and in that respect, it was like the WWE Championship, never evolving, never improving, just sort of sitting there stupidly.

But I was thinking of various sub-products to weave from our vast supply chain of albumen, things like dyes and fuel additives and things like that.  Even a chocolate milk drink.