O catálogo de Natal da Williams-Sonoma.
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And I won’t lie, it was kind of nice to see the fulfillment center, to see just where the (imported, dry-aged Portuguese) sausage (with white wine and fennel) is made. This has not been a pleasant year. Everyone good died. America is now a bad sitcom flash forward episode. And I got a camera up my dick. So it was nice to see all those trucks lined up in Cranbury, each one getting its marching orders to drive out to some pristine house on some pristine cul-de-sac in some pristine suburb. Call it Peppermintbarkville—a place that the rest of the world cannot touch, where even a nuclear holocaust could not intrude upon the bestowing of gold napkin rings and cheese assortments. Life as we know may end, but the Williams-Sonoma catalog, and the army of little Ina Gartens who have seemingly unlimited cash to spend on its wares, will endure. They shall adorn their houses in the finest garlands and pass around only the choicest amuse bouches, and everything will be PERFECT even as the world burns a mile away. OH, IT’LL BE SO GRAND THAT YOU’LL WANNA PUKE.
So come with me now. Let’s forget about our troubles, crack open this year’s W-S Christmas catalog, and lose ourselves in a tartan wonderland. Will there be mug toppers? Oh, you better fucking believe there will be mug toppers. To the catalog…
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Ler mais aqui: Drew Magary, The Adequate Man
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