Sharon Watch
Bionic Octopus empathises with the political PAs:
Look, I’m not really here, I can’t stick around and chat, I just popped in for literally one second to say: how dead is Sharon? I mean, c’mon. Man so dead! Man deader than a big bucket of mortality, whatever the arcane mediconecromancies they’re feverishly deploying to keep his cells pumping until someone sorts out the succession.
What’s funny is the gigantic collective peptic ulcer undoubtedly being nurtured as we speak by the scheduling secretaries for all the major western-world leaders. Poor anxious lambs, skittishly making priority appointments and planning big brass meetings day on day, all the while knowing full well that the instant the Royal Narcomages withdraw their animating hoodoo from the husk that was Arik, all commitments will have to be abrogated and sundry respective Air Forces One prepped for immediate takeoff so the international community can skedaddle out there to pay their po-faced respects within 24 hours. Jewish funerals, so inconvenient.
Poor loves, how they suffer.
