I’m not sure if, on such a joyous day of this site’s anniversary, this is a rebellious admission of guilt or a desperate cry for help, but friends, my Meh order history adds up to a basket of goods one would more likely find inside a windowless van parked in a warehouse in the bad part of town, than in the home of a respectable citizen.
I didn’t get in on the ground floor, unfortunately, and it all started off innocently enough; I was just some regular schmuck who bought some Bluetooth keyboards, air purifiers, and the like, because he thought he was getting a deal. That honeymoon phase didn’t last long, however, and benign impulse consumerism quickly gave way to more base, primal purchasing tendencies; tendencies that Meh has nurtured until they came to define our relationship.
Finding myself in somewhat of a rough patch, I took a plunge and invested in unmanned (and to this day still unlicensed) aerial vehicles as part of a new business venture. The fleet is well-maintained, and surprisingly in the black financially, as a steady income stream is still coming in from the sorties being flown against people at work, made possible by highly sophisticated tracking and recording equipment that was also acquired here. Office politics are a dirty business, I guess, and taking advantage of such an obvious externality was a no-brainer for me. All I had to do was become a corporate mercenary in a slightly more literal sense of the term.
But while drone strikes can be considered a “morally-gray” area (blame Obama), transacting for Class B felony weapons certainly isn’t. Like the dealer in Taxi Driver, Meh was essentially on call any time I needed to stock up on implements of death and destruction, ranging from a wide selection of knives, up to and including explosive devices. If not the type of goods purchased, then at least the frequency with which I’ve purchased them is highly disconcerting, even to myself.
Of course not all of my shopping here has been with violence in mind. Pleasure, too, has had a firm grip on my spending habits. I’ve procured enough pillows and batteries to stock an entire brothel, which is a bit ironic since Meh might as well be one too, considering the “massage” I got from them for just thirty-nine dollars. That deal had quite a happy ending, I can tell you that much.
But it hasn’t all been milk and honey for me. This fast and loose shopping lifestyle has taken a physical and emotional toll, and I quickly found myself descending into the rabbit-hole of substance abuse. Here, too, Meh has delivered, both metaphorically and physically. Uppers, downers, they’ve had it all. And in my version of The Heroin Diaries that would make even the most seasoned ATF agent tug at their collar, I’ve bought it all. And so have the people around me, as I’ve quickly realized that dealing can be quite lucrative once you build up some tolerance with a couple of free samples. It’s a good thing that collecting debts is made so much easier by all the weaponry I’ve stockpiled.
In conclusion, I’ve been very, very naughty. I haven’t just been buying these things as a diversion from more normal purchases; I’ve been buying nothing but this stuff for over two years. But before y’all decide to run down and rat me out to the constabulary, remember: you folks at Meh have been my primary enablers (and the rest of you are likewise guilty by association). So I’ve got as much dirt on you as you do on me, and society will judge you for the monster you’ve created. But it doesn’t have to be that way. I need you, Meh. And I know that you need me too. So let’s keep this business relationship going strong, and everybody’s happy, okay? Good.
Just make sure that next shipment of Crash gets here on time.