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Work-hardened in the fires of American à la carte spirituality, when confronted with ethical dilemmas (and simple consumer purchases), I like to ask myself, “What would Buddha do?” And then I do the opposite of that. When that doesn’t work, I like to ask myself, “What would Jesus do?” And then I always think of the time he went postal on the moneychangers and started flipping tables. Sometimes it’s hard to find tables to flip. I mean, most moneychangers are behind counters that one just can’t walk up to and flip these days. So I pause, to shed 2.7 tears for the table-flipping past-times we no longer have access to and then instead I verbally assault strangers upon the street asking if they’re interested in non-GMO advice. Most aren’t. Their loss. Obviously. Am I right? That’s a rhetorical question, but then, aren’t all questions between writer and readers? Gotcha again, sucker! Two shakes of an infant later and the soma-like effect of snorted dust bunnies kicks in and I’m dreaming of a brighter childhood. As they say in most televised feats of daring: Don’t try this at home.

 

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