No Whimpering Here

I think it’s fair to say it’s beginning in earnest now. A bit faster than I thought, and pretty damn close to as predicted. The plunging cost of reality is allowing the simulation of crisis events to cue sustained engagement, driving advertising revenue, fueling gushers of pollution. Herr Goering, the adorable clown, is now the leader. All the toothbrush moustaches lurk behind the stage, and Curtis Yarvin is growing himself a little Dugin beard. Welcome to the Age of the Fat Fascist, stage one of the Semantic Apocalypse.

I’d ask you to buy a ticket but I see you’ve already found your seat.