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.