Over here, well, you know where, we do not know who Stephen Miller is. After this article I regret that I know him better. And what is more: that I have seen him. Does it never stop? Do we have to undergo this tsunami of disastrous ugly tidings from over there?

The moment I started writing, a church bell started tolling somewhere in the city. Must be God, telling us he agrees. He also tells us he regrets listening to the prayers glue eaters are mmmummbling through their sealed lips. They sound like ‘mmmm, Mmm, mmeeeemm mie‘.

Too bad Miller didn’t eat ‘instant glue’ with his fingers. He would forever have to mumble ‘shush’ from behind his index finger, thus giving the best advice to his boss, the B.B. in C.

Summary: thank you for the fun, Steve!

(P.S. My wife and I used to eat school glue, about 63 years ago. It was called ‘Gluton’. We still remember the sweet taste. It came in a white glass jar with a cork lid and a little red rubber spatula or a brush. We are not bald, ultra right villains, or anything like Miller. Must have been the Dutch brand.)

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Friend of life and beauty and foe of spoilers of life and beauty. Golden marriage. Grandfather. Pianist and micro poet. Dutch, European.

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