Pillory: Horrible Bosses
Turning the sights on ourselves.
Over the years, the Pillory has served to degrade outdoor offenders of all sorts. From untidy dog owners to thoughtless boat launchers and impatient spring pedalers, anyone whose selfishness serves to deprecate the outdoors is liable for a roasting. And although our critiques have always landed on deserved parties, we’ll admit, we’ve been a little harsh, even merciless, at times. So to set the record straight, we’re turning the sights on ourselves—more specifically, on our editor and publisher, Mike England.
Rest assured, you readers have not been the only victims of Mike’s self-interested antics—our staff are subject to repudiation every day at the office. Mike continually provokes widespread agony by roping us into emphatic gripes about anyone or anything that pisses him off. By the time we’ve picked up the pieces from his latest spectacle of waxing self-righteousness on petty affairs, he’s already writing a laundry list of apologies for us to dole out after the next issue’s release. The benefits program at O/B—a quarterly liquor allowance of six beers and one bottle of hard liquor—does little to alleviate the anguish of knowing full-well that our former reputations as benevolent Bozemanites have deteriorated to persona non grata status in various social circles around town.
Mike himself is oblivious to this censure, taking solace in the tender companionship of his emotional-support dog, Raleigh, his only friend, who also provides a scapegoat for throat-tautening flatulence caused by a diet consisting strictly of ungulate. Mike’s tales of escapades on the prairie chasin’ tail (some vices never die off, they simply take on new forms) keep the guise intact, but his inability to brush off a quarrel of words with deference is sadly ironic, given his aptitude for denigrating sensitivity. Guess he’s just not built to roll with the punches like a true Montana man.
Rather, in attempt to exude toughness, Mike berates those whose opinions challenge his own with a smattering of poorly structured arguments that dismiss moral values in favor of “logic” and “objectivity.” To the dismay of our sales team, much time is wasted in avoidable conversations to assure customers that we’re actually decent, sensible people. Never one to admit that he’s wrong, Mike digs his heels in no matter the argument, stretching the sane of us even thinner and evermore devastated by alcoholism. Unfortunately, no drink is strong enough to tune out Mike’s unapologetic demeanor—any search for empathy will be met with combative discourse, or in extreme cases, fisticuffs in the parking lot. Not for us to worry, though, as no matter how much fight the dog puts up, size still does matter. Sorry, Mike, even with all that red meat you consume, you'll never outgrow your Napoleonic psychological dungeon.
