Why am I not writing at the moment? Because, dear patient reader, current reality is so stranger than fiction that the mere act of imagining seems superfluous. Not even bad poetry survives. No wonder cats spend half their days staring out the window.

I learned recently, for example, that Kim Kardashian West at 40 is in the best shape of her life. I find this hard to believe, but it was on a magazine cover (remember those) so it must be true. To be fair, that magazine might have been there a while. I was afraid to touch it in case that very second somebody walked in on me; their “Aha! Caught you perving at Kimmie’s bum!” expression. For the record, if that Kardashian ass is as good as it gets, then it explains why Kanye always seems so grumpy.

More exciting is news today that there may be life on Venus! And by ‘life’ they mean microbes burping phosphine into the stratosphere, not a bunch of sexy Venusians in shiny hotpants looking for a handsome Earth-daddy. I am especially excited that it’s Venus, because anything that helps explain women would be a plus. The downside is that it could also prove that humanity is the most advanced sentient organism in the universe.

I know: if you needed a definition of ‘irony’ that would be it. Anyway, it’s enough just to keeps one’s head above the microbial CV19 swamp these days. I’ve even become marginally less interested in US politics lately. If that vacuous orange clown is still in office on November 4th then my interest in the US, period, will drop to nil. Four years of whining and bitching but you couldn’t be bothered getting off your ass out to vote?

So ‘Martian+Cat+Kardashian’ it is. Why not? Nothing else makes any sense.

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