< the truth stops here >

i'm at the pub, writing, the ballgame muted on the big screen across the room. i look up to see the game over, clearly, as they've gone straight into the short-form infomercial format. the product is called the Forearm Forklift, and the camera shots present a brisk collage of people using what looks like long pieces of deep red cloth to lift various appliances 8 inches off the floor and out the door of otherwise empty rooms. the focus softens, then, and we get a long shot of dr. erica yong-something sitting in a big chair, phd, harvard, talking half-earnestly about the many benefits of this forklift disguised as a piece of flat red rope. and i studied her face, 'cos it seemed like she was not especially keen on the praises she was singing, like she'd rather be talking about something else, probably, when up in the corner of the screen flashes a very small message,

not a true statement

it's there just for a breath, and then, poof, gone; dr. erica yong-n'stuff smiles feebly, and the camera cuts to two men, staring at a large entertainment center in the driveway. they shake their heads; out comes hester prynne's rope-lift, and they get down to business.