I worry about the eventual fate of Republican Senators. Theirs are the necks that are on the block. They seem to have lost faith in the regime but must retain the myth. It reminds me of an urban myth popular in those parts of Glasgow, Scotland that still have tenement buildings bearing the official marks condemning them as unfit for human habitation that were affixed in 1919, immediately after the Great War (Now, World War I)

One such tenement shook slightly when a truck passed on the road outside. Willie had lived there all his life. He had no wife and no close relatives. When he died, his next of kin couldn’t make the journey from his home in Australia, but he asked the old man’s pastor to arrange an open-coffin service in old Willie’s apartment.

He was well liked by the other tenants, having lived there since before they were born, so there would be a good turnout. The undertaker blanched when he was told the coffin was to be open. Willie had phthisis – a badly hunched back. When laid on his back, his wry neck forced him to face the side rather than look up to heaven as he should.

While the undertaker went back to his funeral home to consult his father who had the same problem fifty years before, his new assistant, fossicking around in the backyard, discovered an old settee with most of the stuffing gone. In an inspired moment, he removed a spring and, returning to the coffin, placed it behind the head of the departed bringing his face into the approved position.

Once the neighbors had crowded in, the pastor, resplendent in his clerical gown moved to stand beside the coffin, one hand on the side and the other holding his Bible. When the congregation had settled, he began the eulogy. As was his custom, he presented it as a prayer. Many of those present followed his example by closing their eyes.

“Willie was a good man,” he began. Just at that moment, a truck went past, shaking the building and activating the spring which caused Willie’s head to nod. “He was respected by his neighbors.” It was a bus this time which had the corpse nodding in agreement.

By this time, those of the congregation who had their eyes open were edging towards the door in superstitious dread. This alerted the others who opened their eyes wondering what was going on. The pastor mentioned another virtue and Willie nodded in acquiescence. I wasn’t long before the room was empty apart from the deceased and the pastor, who by this time had noticed the stir.

He opened one eye, saw the room was clear of people and resolved to continue his address but to keep one eye open. Another compliment, and yet another endorsement by the remains. It took one more before the pastor bolted, his faith under severe stress. Unfortunately, his gown snagged on the door handle as he attempted to escape, pulling him back towards the corpse.

“Let me go, you humphy-backit bastard. Let me go!” I fear that it won’t be long before a similar fate overtakes the Republican Party.

By the way, did you like the emperor’s new suit? Don’t listen to that silly little boy who said he could see his highness’ undies. You can see the quality for yourself. Prime Minister Starmer has ordered three suits, so it must be Ok. Don’t go! I can offer you a good deal on a London bridge with a cute mechanism for raising and lowering the road. It’s not on the market yet but I can cut you a deal.