The mother of the nation has gone; she has hobbled
off to her uncertain fate,
having only a tycoon's salary given to her to fund
the purchase of that monkey-shit-brown hair rinse we
know so well. They act like nothing ever happened,
but it did. It's too late--too late for the thousands
driven to mental illness, premature old age and suicide
by the force-feeding to them of a daily diet of despair
and the doctrine of their own obsolescence.
Too late for the thousands of teenagers who grew up
illiterate but unaccountably proud that their nation
spent the money it could have been spent on educating
them to buy guns--guns which this country is too feeble
and unimportant to need to use.

It's too late to stop the rot--a rot she denied existed
and which many thus forgot,
which continued to accelerate and and now will not
be stopped until all this fucking pretense is dropped.
Mario Vargas Yoni, intellectual born-again right-wing
son of a bitch from the exotic other end of the earth,
Venus flytrap lips curling over straw-coloured front
teeth, so smart, so alert,
so elegant...admires the departed killer for her "courage".
Tonight he speaks with Reggie Gurdjieff,
most intelligent man in the UK,
about new novel Shag Auntie Peggy,
and on his plan for a junk bond issue to finance the
privitization of the llama. But first, the bad weather...