July 22, 2020 Joe Coloumbe – President Whole Foods Monrovia, CA 91008 RE: Sticks & Stones and horses’ asses

 

July 22, 2020

Joe Coloumbe – President

Whole Foods

Monrovia, CA 91008

RE: Sticks & Stones and horses’ asses

Mr. Coloumbe,

This began as a light-hearted attempt to mitigate the cultural implications of your ham-handed attempt to virtue signal your entry into the woke corporate stooges of the social justice brigade.

Heaven forfend that any of your customers feel threatened, intimidated, diminished, or singled out by the mini aggressions caused by bumping into a can labeled Trader Jose or Trader Eye-Tie. Was any though given to Trader Adolf or Trader Chinko viruses or, better, Trader Allah Akbar carving knives? How about Trader Yid halvah and usury?

The idea that an unsuspecting customer, having come face to face with the offending box, bag, bottle, or can, would run screaming from your store is basically bonkers.

I am Irish on both sides of my family as far back as any of today’s genetic eyes can see. I was hoping for a Trader Kevin soda bread or a Ballyglass bacon or a Glendalough or Glasnevin cheese. What would have been wrong with a Trader Sean salmon?

In 1992 I appeared pro se in a civil matter before Judge Carol Ferentz of the New Jersey Court in Newark New Jersey. I am not at all naifish about court room appearances, having appeared in the United States Tax Court, the United States Bankruptcy Court. 2 Federal Circuit Courts of Appeal, and the United States Supreme Court, that’s the big ne in Washington.

Judge Ferentz was truly a miserable person, a person who gave los cunos miserables a bad name. Condescending, belittling, sarcastic with no chance of colloquial riposte, she ruled against me. She ended her ruling with an insulting diatribe for which no response would have been possible.

I shortly thereafter found the missing piece of evidence – a canceled check to the firm that sued me for non-payment – that I did not have during the trial in New York City Civil Court. Absent that, the Court ruled against me. A Judgment was entered against me in New York State. The Plaintiff hired a New Jersey law firm which is how I came to be in front of Judge Ferentz. By now I referred to her as Wide-Bottomed Carol or Judge Potty Mouth or the Shit Lip. I took the canceled check to the NY Appellate Court, again pro se, and prevailed. The NY Judge set aside the judgment and ordered a new trial. [Remember James Madison.]

I went back to the New Jersey Courthouse and tracked Judge Ferentz down. It was easy. Pizza boxes; Big Mac wrappers; meatless ribs; naked chicken wings, discarded DQ blizzard cups; lard IVs. I found her in a court room where I mistook her for a cross between Buddha and Jaba the Hutt

I presented her with the documents from New York that canceled the judgment and ordered a new trial. To be sure she understood I read to her the appropriate part of the Constitution about each state having to give full faith and credit to the official papers of every other state. 

She actually drooled out of the left side of her mouth

I am certain she pissed in her pants and she probably took a small dump in her drawers. I cannot say this with 100% metaphysical certitude because she had about 14 yards of black robe wrapped around her past Rubenesque, not quite steatyagonous arse. Secretariat could have vacated both bowel and bladder and no one would have known. For a while.

I decided that that was not enough. By then I was in perpetual “disfavor with fortune and men’s eye’s” that precluded me from serenading her with repeated cries of “Horse’s Ass” while pelting her with flaming bags of cat shit. I did fun things when I had money. It wasn’t all brown whisky, red wine, red meat, various crustaceans.

I developed a series of awards

Horse’s Ass of the Week

Pompous Fart of the Month

Smarmy Bastard of the Year

I gave all of them to Judge Ferentz in perpetuity.

I gave you the background of the first 3 because I have decided to add a 4^th and, guess what, you are the winner.

When I Iived in Ft. Lauderdale I was a proud non-Eyetie member of the Friday Goombah Lunch Club at Caffe Europa on Las Olas Boulevard. There I met Frank Paladino who is to cement in Manhattan what Tom Brady is to 3^rd and 9 with 2 minutes to go and what Yo-Yo Ma is to that little riff that Bach does so well in Goldberg #2.

Frank Paladino says “fucking moron” the way Olivier said to his pal’s sister “Get thee to a nunnery.” Or the way MacArthur said on September2, 1945. “These proceedings are over,’ Imitated but never duplicated.

You, who wish to etiolate Trader Joe’s of any racial or ethnic impurities, real, imagined, or implied by the POOs – Perpetually Offended – are named the first

FUCKING MORON

[big company CEO division]

So let it be proclaimed throughout the land!

Kevin Smith

Guess how many other NJ Superior Court Judges 

sitting in Newark had a picture, a very big picture

 of Tom Selleck on their chambers’ wall.