Dear Self-Appointed Schedule Makers of the World,

Yes, Chairperson Beerman H. Brewer and Secretary Car F. N. Dealerson, I’m talking to you. Directly and without apology. So you can stop crouching down there behind your piles of money, because you’re in plain sight now and every single one of us can see you.

While you were out casting a freshly spray-tanned legion of actors and models to populate the most technotronically elaborate nightclub to ever grace a commercial soundstage, and while you crowded around cubicles crunching complicated formulas to unlock the perfect five-word jingle that would be the key to convincing any Joe blow his immortality lies at the bottom of a light beer bottle, we were busy packing the boxes that we’d load onto the trucks and then drive to the stores to be sold to Joe Blow.

And while you toiled another long day in your think tank…