From the AP, via Yahoo, comes a feature-length obit of John Glenn.

From a Tall-NH who may or may not be a Trump supporter but is certainly deplorable none-the-less comes today’s DWP:

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Johnathan Winterlock reclined back from the ancient oaken table, lit by thirteen red candles. His chair creaked softly as he sank into its warm, cracked leather. The rich, lustrous velvet of his robe enveloped and swaddled his body.  He tented his fingers and sat silently, counting his breaths in and out. After the 45th one he finally spoke.

“Brethren,” his voice was fluttery and paper-thin but the other 12 members of the Innermost Circle knew the will and mind behind it were both strong and inexhaustible. “We have done it. We have crafted the space ship,” Winterlock arched his eyebrows, although the waggish expression did not escape the dark shadows that draped across his face. “We have staged the photos, faked the audio messages and propagated our biggest deception ever. Once again, we are triumphal.”

There was no movement whatsoever from the other great masters seated around the table. But without any cue they all in unison intoned, “quamdiu sumus in magno”.

“Yes, yes, ‘long shall we be great’ indeed.” Winterlock’s small voice became suddenly sharp as jagged ice. “It would, however, be easier to do so if, oh, I don’t know. If perhaps Brother Phillip Rotterman hadn’t irrevocably lost our Space Hoax position paper which clearly outlined why we decided to do this in the first place.” Now all but one of the brethren turned the cowled heads to face a single, guilty brother, who globbed out, as though it were a wad of phlegm, a flimsy, face-saving guess.

“It had to be the aliens thing, right? Scare the people into thinking aliens are threatening the planets, use that as a pretext to take over the global economy. Or maybe convince them that God is dead. Something along those lines, surely.”

One by one 12 of the great masters each extinguished the candleflame in front of them with the tips of their left thumb and forefinger. Winterlock was the last of the 12 and when only Rotterman’s candle was left, the other extinguished both it and him.

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