Since all I do is consume, like the first world parasite the West has destined me to be, I thought I would meditate on more responsible, yet rewarding ways to laughingly squander the earth's precious resources, as we Americans are wont to do.

At work, I would get yelled at for the structure of that sentence.

Anyhow, awhile back I had the fortune to obtain an American Apparel t-shirt. It was in fact, my commemorative Nanowrimo 2003 shirt, that I purchased in a fit of glee upon producing 50,000 steaming words of excrement, otherwise known as my first novel. (Actually it's pretty brilliant, what am I saying?!)

Moving on, the t-shirt had this certain, I don't know, fittedness, and cuddliness, lacking in today's mass produced, steeply discounted Bangladeshian cotton garments. I wore it to death, and was inspired enough to check out the label on the tag, and see what in hell was this American Apparel.

Allegedly, American Apparel is a clothing company that employs factory workers here in the United States, and pays them a living wage. This is, in these big box chain store, minimum wage, squillionare CEO, offshoring times, basically unheard of, as you are surely aware. Not only that, but their t-shirts fit really well and are soooo cuddly... not all boxy and overly thick, and gross and square and choky-necked, like those ones you can get for 3.99 at Wal Mart, for which a factory worker in Guangdong was probably paid .000000000000001 percent of a haypenny to produce. That said, they do attract an occasional critic of protectionism, a popular argument these days being that unemployed Americans are selfish to question third world countries benefit from outsourced jobs.

So, my point is, I shop there now (the mail order experience was a pleasant one). But that doesn't stop me from being an Ugly American. No, my friend. Only sweet death can accomplish that feat.

Hey, peeps. Send mail to mail@tiny-dog.com.