by Darryl Price

You force me to turn you off. 
Okay. I guess that's how it 
is with you guys. You don't want 
to pay me for my time. You 
don't want to borrow my time. 
You want to steal it instead. 
And then use it for what end? 
Amassing numbers that can 
be crunched into internet 
influencers for buyers? 
People are not numbers. They 
are people. Even if they 
are assigned numbers, they still 
feel like people, hunger like 
people, do all the things that 
people do like people. They 
cry just like people. When a 

nutty smiling guy decides 
to drop a ton of bombs on 
innocent children that he 
doesn't even know the names 
of, because he wants to force 
something loose from their parents, 
even when he's a parent 
himself, does he believe it's 
really okay because they 
are nothing more than numbers
to him? There once was a guy 
who burned people alive in 
awful smelling ovens to 
stop them from living the way 

they wanted to outside of 
his own personal shouted 
directives, he gave orders, 
he signed the papers, and he 
instructed the police in 
their brutality, but he 
himself observed the Christmas 
holidays with family, 
far from that hell on earth. He 
ate heartily delicious 
Christmastime pudding with his 
girlfriend's loving family. 
Sat at their table and laughed 
in open conversation 

with them. Another guy, all 
covered head to toe in spiked 
medals for honor, valor 
and glory, decided it 
was alright to wipe out whole 
villages of brave ancient 
spiritual peoples from their 
homelands simply because he 
needed the room to grow towns, 
and hotels, and run railroads, 
and sell packaged goods to new 
gullible citizens. When 
they naturally fought back, 
he branded them savages. 

It goes on and on. And here 
you are today, telling me 
how badly you need my vote 
to keep displaced people who 
are starving for a little 
human compassion out of 
our neighborhood because they
dress funny, and talk funny, 
and look sad and depressed. We 
are the truly deserving 
happy people, you say. We 
are the one and only best 
of jolly folk, full of jokes, 
brotherly ribbing. We're just 

trying to raise good wholesome 
families without any 
interference that isn't 
sanctioned by God. We've seen Him, 
and he looks and acts like us, 
you can trust us, so you say. 
Like I said, an onion.  
Good thing there are apples. Good
thing there are pears. And cherry bottoms.
And pumpkins galore. Squash and
cattails. Cider and song. If 
you're not sure how the onion 
plays into this look into a 
history of mirrors.