Call to arms, y'all

In this broad age of Globalization it's such a relief to trade face-to-face without the penetration of corporate systematism. Not to demean the worldwide movement still cementing itself around our shoes (cliché itself at this point), because we all love and support our third world compatriots sooo much that all the clothes we buy come from there, unless of course you shop at American Apparel, elitist bastard. Certainly there comes a point, though, when you just can't help but feeling like you're not paying so much for cotton or plastic as for their absentee CEO's fourteen-year-old boy-lover's boob job, and certainly not for the thread to sew back on fingers lost putting them together. And after the first couple early-morning acid breakdowns over that mental image, you really want to just get rid of everything you own and never look at it again. Out-the-window liberation cramps the style of any red-blooded American, though--don't worry. And after all you need shit. A community of just such like unstable people eager to escape mind-numbing capitalist categorical division is what the world needs now, you think looking through tears into the stars. It's not a dream, freaks. Weekly Teahaus bartering sessions are now a reality glimmering like hope for our disparate and uncommitted community. Leave those sorry consumerist doldrums behind in garnering treasure, giving away trash, or doing good turns for others, all on your own terms. Meerkat Day. Thursdays at noon, seriously.