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Hi listeners, I'm Christopher Swindle and I have a story I want to tell you.

A story of a sales pitch that'll make your skin crawl.

So gather round and listen.

Close.

Douglas Stewart possessed enough sense to avoid the weekly advertisement pamphlet

shoved inside his mailbox marked 1712.

The box painted a crisp white at the end of his private drive.

On most every morning, Douglas swept the junk mail from one crisp container to a second,

also well groomed receptacle without a second glance at the promise for a reduction on lamb legs.

Said garbage receptacle, painted a dark green and intended to blend its edges and lines in with the surrounding trees.

Huffed open duty today, as it always did each morning.

The yawning mouth ready to receive its expected intake of vulgar vitamins these ad pamphlets produced.

Douglas flashed the sheath of papers towards the garbage receptacle, then paused.

A gesture which had lost his competitor's hundreds of television sales but had never been in the vocabulary of Douglas Stewart

or any of the stewards before him.

To pause was to question.

To hesitate was his final escars on skin.

Yet there he stood as uncertain as a field mouse after watching its family shredded by a barn cat.

Douglas Stewart did not let go of the papers, a splotch of harsh words, surely a misprint miss by the lazy editor,

swam in and out of focus just near the bottom of the sheet.

...