The king will see no visitors this evening. He's resting in his bath. And he's restless for the screening of his favorite soap - this episode is crucial. The king just needs to cry. Far away, the peasants are revolting, the generals have been choked with knotted flags. I hear they're hanging from the balustrades. From mile-high-rises, microwaves are dropped. Drive-bys, dodge them all, to swarm into the hungry mob, to desecrate them, defecate them, no one's leading on. They keep pitching forwards, this way, that way, anyway. And I heard the airport's overflowing, and the borders have been closed. We are censoring this message, though we're sure that no one knows: No one cares! The king is looking rather disappointed. He's staring at the screen, and he's swearing, 'cos he's seen someone died. The funeral is live.