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So the lock-down and the length of my years, now seventy, often suggest an afternoon nap. And today’s shut-eye was dream driven by a Wi-Fied tablet tabulating the political ups and downs of the day. A Cable Network feed of how doom and desire is playing in Peoria.

But I’m please to report that my woolgathering was taking place in a strip mall Strip Club bearing all with the appellation “Cancel Couture.” The music was lo-fi hip hop. The scotch watered but a splash. The young ladies in fine shape and healthily distant.

And then, it was again, not a GoodYear. POTUS had taken to Twitter and was again partaking in Cancel Culture.


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