Author: Justin Gawel

Shareholders, the board regrets to inform you that we will be shutting down our Williamsburg operations. The space will be liquidated and reverted back into an Anthropologie and a sweatshop-themed teahouse. We do, however, anticipate Q4 to be our most profitable quarter to date as we shift all of our production to the windowless, crumbling airplane hanger in a cartel-y neighborhood of the El Salvador jungle. Yes, that compound, the humid one that smells like wet cat food and now has all the graffiti reads, “Send Help.” I don’t want to blame our uncaring customers and their apparent frigid, Ayn…

It sat on twenty acres of forest down an old dirt road. “It’s cozy,” my realtor said, forcing a smile and not looking up from her phone. The cottage, however, would be perfect for me and my quasi-legal, offshore nonprofit. Perfect except that their asking price had been listed in dollars, of which I didn’t have, and I needed the sellers to accept an equivalent in human teeth, of which I had several.  My negotiation secret? Don’t worry; I’ll secrete it to you. My cool cabbie hat, my indoor sunglasses, my Leverage body spray by Mark Cuban… these are mere accessories:…