Mini Jot Notes from Way, Way Underground

U.S. Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, who looks very sexy and elegant in the movie, has apparently been hit with another round of cancer. It is sad to have to think of such a thing under these circumstances, but unfortunately one does: If Ginsburg is nearing the end of her days on the court, then this makes the 2020 election all the more urgent.

After all, Lord knows America cannot afford to have the next supreme court justice nominated by Joe Biden, Donald Trump, or whichever stoner is able to fight off the giggles long enough to win the Libertarian Party’s presidential nomination! (Oh, I just noticed they have already found their candidate, and her name is Jo Jorgensen. I was hoping for the guy calling himself Vermin Supreme, who wears a boot on his head; alas, Vermin finished third in the 2020 nominating convention — but at least his vice-presidential running mate got onto the ticket with Jorgensen! And no, I’m not making any of this up.)

Washington Post headline right now: “It’s not only cases that are rising. Deaths are, too.”

Subtitle: “Really, really, we promise! Oh please let it be true! Please, any deaths at all, even one, so we can say deaths are rising — because our whole profiteering charade goes down the toilet if people actually wake up from their terrified sheep dreams long enough to notice that the mortality rate from this virus is not quite as twenty-percentish as we had hoped…er, I mean as we had feared.”

“Oh, come on,” you object, “you don’t really believe the mainstream corporate media wants to see rising death numbers!”

Okay, I don’t really believe it, if that makes you feel better. (I do believe it, but I don’t want you to feel bad.)

If you were a Washington Post reporter during the 14th century pandemic known as the Black Death, by the way, you would not have to write headlines to persuade readers that people were dying. Half of your subscribers would already have first-hand knowledge of the fact, being dead themselves. And the half who were left alive would be using your newspaper to protect their hands from the corpses of the family members they were burying each week.

Just a thought.