A couple of threads down someone mentioned the last chapter of The Sheep Look Up by the British science/speculative fiction writer, John Brunner. It is indeed brutal. But this is the poem by John Milton, on which the novel is based:

The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,
But, swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw,
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread.

That’s a pretty good description of the Trumpettes.

Oh, his best book, by the way, is Stand on Zanzibar.

In my opinion, of course.

Night all. It’s just a shitshow of shitshows not even masqueraiding as anything but a shitshow of shitshows.

The whole thing with Goya’s line of produce today was just beyond the pale, by people who don’t actually use their products.

No fruit juice? That shit is killer bee. Anybody can make black beans.