The thing about Holywood spin doctors like Attenborough, if he is the magus of the hour he takes himself for, is they all along have been enamored of Brando, Trumpytune’s classmate Ford Coppola, and don’t mind signifying a place at the table for a little girl from the end of the Last Temptation with the mark of Cain.  So rang the ballad of Saoirse and Greta.  The Fraternal Order of Dictators has done their Green-German thing since the days of Mandela and the Elders, yammering torture from the Japanese ancients with Penis Gabriel’s cultural acuity, but the attack intended to discredit American power and heritage comes with applause from Trumpytune’s favorite Russians, whose own brand of power most often results in disillusionment.  Putin and Trump don’t exactly bode that Russia grew up when we didn’t.

I’d like to weigh in about the treatment of dissenting intellectuals by UW Dialectical but one of their pretties delayed just long enough the return of some precious books to have snagged them for the logdown.

      Trump’s calling card, the grandiose, from 911 Towers, Cynthia Lennon’s ideological dramaturgy, had the acuity of Penis in tow a long time, whose kit manages the burning oil wells as they published The Perfect Storm, but the form that Greta Thunberg took is more or less what I had in mind when discussing my thoughts with Midori Goto.  Just a stand.  I certainly did not have in mind using John Lennon as a weird adversary against Texas Queers, but then CMU, where Godspell cranked out, has fancier footwork than me at the Crossroads.

       The murderers at Code Red College really did poison me in the mouth, and it really is very serious.