Another dull force, another nullification, another idiot, another delay, another barely credible bizarre circumstance, another time when optimism in the face of reality seems a ludicrous extravagance.  This rocket boy, a fantastic performance oriented emotive type, is the anarchy.

Thanks to the fabulous rocket man, the wonderful tent is knocked flat.

 

“Pathos, pathos…bedazzling fool,blithering folly!”  Yorick is trying to find some sense, the hope in it all.  Finding techno-irascibles far more destructive than any medieval knight in armour.  Superior to the plodding citizenry, demonstrating a disdain of gravity and unprayed wireless wizardry.  The 20th century morphed into this recent one.  Endless destruction is now controlled by the singular pronoun and a plethora of screaming emotive projectiles.  So much invested in a quick dramatic solution; for fame.

 

The event, this destruction, was the outcome of a (living) avant-garde type who decided to demonstrate cutting-edge technology.  In this case a missile, guided by his superior intelligence through various digital/mental interfaces.  He correctly identified a missile as a bomb with a hole in the bottom.  So he unpacked his emotion bombs (similar to the norm here) and repacked them in a pointed tube, to which a fuse was attached; guidance wirelessly connected to his hat.  The take-off went well. The speedy encircling flights of a rocket man, while astonishing and wonderful, soon overwhelmed his artificial intelligence synapses.  Possibly he passed gas(?) possibly phone interference(?) disrupting what control he had. What followed was the destruction of the tent for many –  by the singular pronoun.

As you know from the beginning posts, the use of proper personal names is prohibited (the only rule here at the reunion of the enfant terribles) and so we are restrained from mentioning him for legal and art historical (fame) ramifications.  However if you see the idiot below…