Phantom Fireflies. One of these days a Dies irae the size of a small moon is going to fall on our heads like a sodding ton of bricks. And then both the black sheep and the black-sheep-shooters will run around in panic and despair and there’ll be much gnashing of teeth, although not for long, for the end will be very, very painful but quick.

And all the while, the Meat Puppets in No. 10 and its peripheral add-ons are having a laugh and just going with the flow, or, as they call it, “the scientists..

And the good WeThePeople wear their little mostly-useless masks and stay home after dark and buy stuff from Amazon. And in their plentiful spare time they indulge in whatever degree of witch-hunting they can and call the dissenters all sort of unpleasant names. Torches and pitchforks and public Auto-da-fés in Hyde Park next, I daresay.

Welcome to the New Subnormal (soon to be Sub-Human). Have a lovely rest-of-the-week. And un po’ di mu’. Long time no un po’ di mu’! 🙂

Te tengo ke ver llorar, descalcito por las calles primo, por lo ke tu me has hecho pasar.