Robot wending its way through the tables, by the blue-striped FT on the bench. Couple patrons obliged bringing their cups & plates. Nadia had long been boycotting Starbs, Amazon & the others, she had revealed a few days before. For a minute it seemed paper was unavoidable; in fact if you asked specially, glass was provided. (There may have been a net thing about germs after machine-washing.) Mr T. T. tutup again and Sarah’s tea counter only opened at noon. OneKM’s outlet was running their golden oldies and prairie ballads on high rotation; far better the neat and shiny eager beaver grandsons & -daughters of coolies at PLQ. $6.80 small. (Sing had the highest McDs per capita on the planet, and Starbs could not be far behind.) Entirely other world. G. Serai was a 6-7min walk, during Ramadan all mosque-mouse quiet. The older FT in blue was the only other white in attendance... No. A young IT in track pants was working from home. (Alone in the condo was even more crushing than these generic chains.) Couple gleaming stainless belt-buckles sported by the mid-30s prematurely aged Chinese biz guys. Oh! And another older FT too, neat casual chosen by his wife. Closing 9. Every last one of the tables was shortly to be filled and many late arrivals would be forced to turn on their heels disappointed. The Robot delivered to the lady at the bar, where there was beer on tap & cocktails, presumably. Blog hammer continuing apace, 19½ dozen LLM scrapes yesterday, there was little doubt. Not productive of SG to take a stronger stance against Israel, according to the usefully Muslim Assistant FM on CNA, modest, quiet chap who occasionally patronised Sarah with his wife. The little robot faintly reminiscent of Casper the Ghost had its battery fully charged overnight. Kept up indefatigably. After slipping from notice for a few minutes, there it was again like a proper apparition. There came a couple hesitant, neutral glances in its direction from one or two patrons, with the resulting blankness. This was not exactly a friendly ghost. On first noticing the model a number of weeks previously at Bras Basah, the lack of crafting came as something of a surprise. Cartoon marketing was ubiquitous in the Republic, both commercial & government forms. We had entered the Cartoon age of course. Many of the figures in the urban spaces were used for photographic props. On it went over the floor, breathing down the neck more or less. The sense of a pickpocket, or in the current climate, assassin. It was only the CCTV that restrained. Little accidental knocks in passing once or twice was the most that could be ventured. The strength of Ned Ludd’s righteous arm needed to be kept in check. The China boys were the exception; all the other patrons sitting solitary. Not getting much lovin’ any of them, by the looks. (Plummeting birth rates continued, no one could explain it in the safe & clean island haven.) If the heavy lashes moseying up was trying her luck with an old Foreign Talent, she was definitely overplaying her cards, like greenhorn Zelensky. Poor sweet. The persiflage was always wafer thin here and nervously carried before the eyes of the whites particularly. Hegarty with the tattoos beneath his suits siding with China, N. Korea and someone else at the UN on the real aggressor over there. 30-40 casualties overnight at the Ukraine military training ground; ninety injured—and Mr T. the only pollie whose heart was bleeding at the loss of life. (Biden would fight to the last Ukrainian.) In the afternoon hitting BBC highlights of the speech to both Houses, was it? A long lead time was needed before the man finally emerged. Cameras panning the crowd. Vance & Mel. Panning. Finally, finally, the blue suit slowly making its way to the podium, like an old punch drunk prize-fighter. Shakes, hugs, pats, air kisses. In the opening acknowledgments the First Lady was given her dues. Clap-clap-clap. Clap-clap-clapping some more. The post-box slot had never been noticed previously. That was some helluva trap; Don’s own duck bill couldn’t compare. As the lady gathered the accolades, her eye-liner gleamed like mercury. Really great shape. Dieting and anxiety had worked a treat. Were there another global leader like her husband she would have received compliments; if the wife wasn’t around, cocktails offered in his room. Left / Right like a metronome. Nothing like it. Seen nothing like it. Spectacular. The short six weeks had surpassed all previous records in the history of the Republic. Mega MAGA. Minor heckling. Placards. Some guy ejected. (In the Serbian parliament the day before smoke bombs had been discharged by the Opposition.) Resident 18-19 years now, was she? (While in labour at the hospital he had had it off with the intended babysitter? Or was that another guy on Epstein’s list?) Folks fast-tracked for Green Cards. Great people; good, decent. The right colour. (Which was the senior again, son-in-law, or the father?) The lady must cast back regularly to the early years doin’ the rounds, putting out in the big city, ironing her dresses. The big moment; her lucky break. Musta handled it just right.
Singapore 2011-25
NB. Melania’s statue in her hometown has gone missing; some anarchists suspected and the intel services on the case. https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cvg7egyrk40o
NB.2. Now the bio pic, financed to the tune of $40m—$75m with marketing—by Mr. Bezos, who has gone missing from Epstein’s list. Still climbing the ranks at the time, perhaps. Audience numbers thus far less than spectacular at early screenings in the States. It would be different in Ljubljana, where sellouts will be guaranteed, though the anarchist Yugostalgics might cause further bother over there.
NB. 3. The Economist now reports of the $40m odd Mr Bezos provided for the Melania pic, the First Lady pocketed a cool $28m fee.
https://www.action-spectacle.com/winter-2026-part-ii/radonic
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