Rain is a constant companion. We live in Dickensian times. Scrooge has all he wants, and Bob Cratchit shivers in the office. The miracles of capitalism are complete for a select few. Many ask for a crust of bread.

Stand in line for homage time. We owe our success to a select few. They must have their due. They love praise, and it is difficult to produce it fast enough. The need for approval is great, and the thirst is insatiable.

We are not doomed to repeat history; we rewrite it like a bad Play. A remake is in the works, and it will be better than the first. No more history of persecution of Native Americans. We Europeans were benevolent to the people here before us. We gave them select land. They have casinos.

Hitler won. He had stealth agents to take our country from within. Oppression is popular if you are the oppressor. It is good to be the King.

Slavery was on-the-job training. Kind landowners took African Americans under their wing and trained them in useful work. What a country of blond, blue-eyed super-humans. Now we provide sanctuary for the persecuted white folks who have not had an advocate until recently. Happy days are here again.

A little girl cries in the street. Hungry, cold, and nowhere to go. A little boy holds his sister’s hand. He is trying to protect her while he needs protection.

‘Bring in the clowns, we gotta have clowns.’The circus is in town. The poor sit in the cheap seats as usual. The new clowns are in town. Their humor is slapstick. Real pain is part of their new Vaudiville act.