In two settings; the 3rd floor of a 5th estate olde-age residence for seniors on Urantia; the other Arthur’s digs on Luna. Luna is where Art hosts, in

soirée, Don and brothers on the Cabal, sitting. In two settings, MAYDAYS, Vladimir’s Cabal, have written.

On a golf outing, Don tweets Happy Father’s Day wishes to all fathers, American. Ain’t he, great? And tireless. Witness, he’s

co-authoring, along with Vlad, Xi, Kim and Mohammad, MAYDAYS. On Luna; where only Truth, is spoken. If only, typically, cynically.

If only, cynically. For it matters not what Don or anyone for that matter says on Luna. Lies, on Urantia are minted and duly sanctioned, coins, of the realm.

Don says his men may ‘demand’ more than two terms. Two terms, too few if Don is helming the realm.

Don says his men may be demanding more than two terms. Two terms, too few for this Golden-haired, Golden-Child, President. He’s so adorably,

totally child-like. So focused on his own gratification. Not Hong Kong. Not Xi. Not even Vladimir, make Don, worry.

A willingness to act with impunity in his drive for reelection and in his drive for all things endears Don to a deplorable white nationalist ugly American type

Don became endeared to as a lad. Vlad’s toxin, he fears, makes Don favor whiter American, types.

Reading between the lines: On Saturday the NYT reported that Don’s men have outfitted the Russian electrical grid with potentially crippling,

malware. Flash forward to today. A vast South American blackout; less an outage than a thinly, veiled … warning.

A vast South American blackout; less an outage than a thinly, veiled, warning. A rapid reply, unseemly, in its virility. Like when one pokes, another person

in the chest, only to get oneself punched, in the face. Vlad’s … livid. That’s what’s happening.