Reputations. Here, have a little peek at what the wee creatures think of the whole pantomime. This is a casual, tangential ad hominem attack on that hideous clown in No.10, once more trying to impersonate that other repulsive clown (and pimp) that one long time ago, had nothing to offer the country but blood, sweat, tears and a few gassed “natives”, to keep the populace happy. A pox on them all.
Passengers. Have a heart. For the homeless, the landless, the forcibly deracinated, the viciously pushed around, the thoughtlessly bulldozed, the despised, the lonely and the ignored. For all the declared non-persons in cold blood by the bullies of the global playground, just because they can. And for the Palestinians, for the First (soon to be Last) Australians, and the Chagossians, dying of broken hearts in some begrudged shanty corner east of Madagascar.
This is, again, for Zoraida aka Arsaytoma. I miss you and your drawings, girl.
Minotaur Mutations. A strange character has appeared out of the blue in the Chromatic Shifting Sands. Nobody can tell what it is since it refuses to reveal its name or even its rank and serial number. We conjecture that it may be vaguely related to Arachne but for the fact that it has too many limbs, and we think it might be female because as soon as she(?) appeared she(?) started giving birth to what she(?) claims is the ultimate alternative Minotaur under the watchful eye of the Permanently Amazed Palm Tree. It, the Alt-Mino, will undo all the wrongs that the original Minotaur did and, as a bonus, will haunt the dreams of Mike Pompeo from now on until the end of time and beyond. She(?) says. The Shoggoths are exceedingly curious about these shenanigans and are keeping a discrete eye on the proceedings. In spite of the perplexity surrounding this affair, we all wish the new mother(?) great fortune, outstanding prosperity and endless grooviness.
Identity Politics. When the I is king uncivil war looms.
By all means, divide yourselves like common amoebas; fragment the already fragile structure that could have backed up the R-Evolution; turn your righteous causes into ideological minced meat. Accuse, censor, de-platform, wave fingers, assault, assail, persecute, cancel, make some poor bugger’s life a misery. My heroes are better than your heroes. I’m a real victim; you’re just kvetching. Me too! Mee too! Go for it. Boost the inner child and reinforce your self-esteem. Feel wonderful, worthy, virtuous and “it”.
Meanwhile, back at the whorehouse, the Meat Puppets and their Robocop Masters of the Universe handlers (some of which are funding your beautiful, virtuous movements, don’tyouknow), are licking their inhuman chops and having a laugh at your expense, thinking how well their mass manipulation techniques are working, and how effective, cheap and effort-saving they are. Why harass openly and directly the populace, which is very bad PR, when it can do it itself to itself so economically? And in between insane giggles, they are sharpening the machetes and polishing the button that will push the lever that will drop the pill that will make the gas.
Have a nice life.
And instead of un po’di mu’, one of my favourite Monty Python sketches: