Upon the temporary cessation of the vertigo induced by contemplating a world in which the whole damn company (factories, inventories, etc), is worth less than Avon Cosmetics, I wrestle with the following conundrum:

Why doesn’t the UAW loan itself some pocket change from its own IRA, as it were, and let Rick Wagoner take his snot stained spare change paper cup out on the corner of Market and Sixth, where they know how to treat panhandlers.

Surely this is the moment for the workers on the factory floor to purchase the instruments of production.

Vive Le Syndicat! Vive l’Internationale!