Nothing to see here, this boycott is over, a pitiful boycott if you ask me, but I'm a serious boycotter, a boycotter for life when I boycott, a deep grudger, an active consumer enemy of the boycotted. Consider sucky National Tire And Battery, Inc., a ridiculous excuse for a company. Forget the details, but they did me wrong in 1994. Beyond boycotting, I'm directly involved with influencing Discount Tire Company patronage to friends, family, and strangers. NTB has a crook culture, wrapped in a sneering disdain for the customer, flavored with a general dumbness covering every square foot of every one of their sorry rodent infested smelly establishments.
And here it comes, here it comes, here comes your 19th nervous breakdown. Visions of a massive middle class middle finger, held up high and mighty, woken from leisurely slumber, lurking. Priorities lost, metaphorically, time to flap it out and flip it off, the middle folks have arrived. Voices are harmonizing low, the back beat won't quit, the lead's sharp tones dance all around the bass line. Listen for the rumble, listen for it, this band of many colors, zing.
Go local, these national types reek. Bribery skunks all around, the lobbies, foyers, and rotundas are full of them. Lawns in all directions. Pepe LaPue wants to buy your vote, so sure you are down for the date, those suave moves, those close quarters, that razzle dazzled charm, that love spray. Nevermind the stink, you'll get used to the smell, skunks are your friends, just keep your distance.